


The Mountain and The Sea

by AlexisDanaan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Veela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisDanaan/pseuds/AlexisDanaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger was perfectly happy with her life, her job as a Healer Trainee, her ugly cat and her cute little house in the countryside. And then Draco Malfoy had to go and mess that all up, typical git. Post-Hogwarts, EWE, OOC, creature!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

" _You call me a mountain, and I call you the sea. I'll stand tall and certain and watch you swallow me"_

–Mountain and The Sea by Ingrid Michaelson

Hermione Granger huffed and blew a few errant strands of hair out of her face. Her chocolate brown curls were rapidly falling out of the loose bun she had thrown them up into in an attempt to get the mess out of her face while she worked. She should have taken Healer Wong's advice and started using Wizarding products on her hair but she was notoriously stubborn and some habits just died hard. She shoved her light blue Trainee robes up past her elbow again and dipped another strip of gauze into the potion in front of her. After making sure it was fully saturated with the thick, yellow liquid she carefully placed it on the leg of the little girl lying in the bed next to her.

With a considerable effort she kept her eyes away from the little girl's pinched face or that of her mother, who was clutching at her daughter's small hand. If she looked now, she knew she would lose all semblance of professionalism and start crying. The child, Serena, was only 4 years old and had ended up in the burn ward of St. Mungo's after tripping and falling, part of her body landing too close to her father's cauldron fire. The everlasting flame, which he had been using for his potion, had ignited most of her clothes, burning her skin and hair almost instantaneously. Her father had managed to Vanish her burning clothes before her entire body was consumed by the bright blue fire but the damage had been done. She had burns covering over 60% of her body and because the fire had been magical in origin it did not heal the same way a normal burn would under magical care. Every four hours one of the Healer Trainees had to soak her skin in a potion specifically designed to counter the effects of the magical flame and to try to keep her out of pain.

Hermione winced slightly as she heard the strained hiss of air come from Serena. The potion was soothing once it was on but the removal of the old gauze and its replacement was painful for her. Each time Hermione touched her in the slightest the young witch would let out a soft whimper of pain. It had been eating at her since she met the child two days prior. Carefully, she continued to put the potion soaked gauze over her burns, trying not to grimace. The colour of the potion made everything look worse; on top of the blistered skin, that was weeping clear fluids, the yellow concoction made the girl's wounds look like they were extremely infected.

"You're doing a spectacular job, sweetie," Hermione murmured to her softly, not taking her eyes off of her work.

"It hurts," Serena whispered, clearly trying to be brave. Her mother let out a sound like she was choking.

"I know, beautiful, I know," Hermione cooed, coating another piece of gauze, "but it helps the burns heal, so it will be worth the pain in the end."

She glanced at the face of the little girl, her chubby features set in determination, as she nodded courageously despite the tears threatening to spill over her cheeks. Hermione smiled at her and leaned closer to her face, in an audible whisper she said, "I know where there's a bowl of ice cream with your name on it, shall I get it when we're done here?"

Serena smiled slightly, her face losing the pinched look for a second, and she nodded.

"Alright, then let's get this part over with, okay?"

Hermione went back to treating the girl's wounds and several excruciating minutes later, she was able to clear away her supplies and pronounce the job done. After promising to return with Serena's ice cream, Hermione cleared out of the room for a breather. She was headed to the cafeteria to purchase Serena's ice cream when she came across Pansy Parkinson heading in the same direction. Nodding to the other woman, who returned the silent greeting, they fell in step beside each other as they continued on their way. They had been wary of each other when they first started their training at St. Mungo's because of their shared history but over the last two years they had managed to put it behind them, for the most part. They certainly weren't friends but they were no longer enemies. They chatted when the opportunity presented itself, mostly about their patients and difficult cases—never personal things—and would help each other out when one of them needed the odd favour here and there. Hermione was never fully comfortable with Pansy around, it was hard to considering that the other girl had once tried to hand over her best friend in order to save her own skin, but they got by as best they could.

"You on the night shift?" Pansy asked, breaking their silence.

"Yep, until 10AM, you?"

"I get off at midnight," Pansy replied as they entered the cafeteria. Pansy started heading towards the long table that housed the various coffee's available. "Coffee?"

"No, actually," Hermione said, "I'm here for ice cream for Serena."

Pansy smiled softly, something that had taken Hermione quite a while to get used to. "How is she doing?" she asked.

Hermione sighed as she watched Pansy pour and doctor her coffee. "She's brave, it's incredible considering her age. The burns are starting to show signs of healing but at the rate it's going, she's going to be here for months."

Pansy's mouth twisted into a grimace and she followed Hermione over to the snack section where she could order ice cream. "Her parents are idiots. I can't believe that her father didn't have his workspace warded against his children."

"He didn't think of it," Hermione said after ordering two scoops of Strawberry Stardust. "He figured that a locked door would suffice."

Pansy snorted. "Not with magical children. When are they going to learn?"

Hermione arched an eyebrow at her and handed over a couple Sickles for the ice cream. "Pansy, it's not because they're both Muggle-borns."

"Don't give me that look, Hermione," Pansy said, her tone defensive. "I'm just saying that a wizard who had been raised around magic would have known to ward his work station with an age line. Muggle-born parents just don't think of those things, they think that they can lock a door and it'll be fine but it's not and now that little girl has to pay the price for her parents' stupidity."

Hermione sighed. She and Pansy often had debates like this. It was definitely better than their school days when Pansy had thrown around the word 'Mudblood' with casual regularity but it was far from perfect. Pansy was still of the opinion that Muggle-borns didn't quite belong in Wizarding society. In the early days of their new association, Hermione had confronted the other woman about her views and told her that, in no uncertain terms, was she willing to risk the safety of her patients simply because Pansy was prejudiced. Hermione had feared that, if it ever came down to Pansy following Hermione's orders, that the other woman may fight her simply based on her blood status.

She almost smiled as she remembered Pansy's response. The pug nosed woman had placed both hands on her hips and arched an elegant eyebrow as she said, "Granger, you may not _be_ a pureblood but you know more about magic than most of the old farts on the Wizengamont."

After that the girls had managed to have several civil debates on the issue, though they never settled anything. They continued to see things differently but Hermione was okay with that because, as far as she had seen, Pansy no longer allowed her views of Muggle-borns to determine the way she treated them. She gave each and every patient equal care and attention, which was what mattered to Hermione.

"She has paid the price of their stupidity, but it's a stupid mistake that any careless parent could have made, regardless of their upbringing. You remember the little boy who came in last week with two broken arms and a shattered collar bone? He was from a wizarding family, several generations worth, but his parents hadn't been paying attention to him and he got off on his brother's broom. Shitty parenting is just shitty parenting," Hermione said as they walked back towards the burn ward.

Pansy cast a glare in Hermione's direction but it had no malice behind it, Pansy just didn't like being proven wrong. "I'm going to go through our records for the last six months and tally up all the cases where Muggle-born parents did something stupid and got their kid hurt versus Wizarding families, then you'll see."

Hermione laughed. "You do that Pansy, I'll not stay late to help you though."

"Course you won't," Pansy grumbled as they walked back into Serena's room. Hermione smiled to see the little girl sitting up in her bed and chatting quietly with her mother.

Hermione held up the bowl of ice cream with a smile. "Strawberry Stardust, anyone?"

The grin that lit up Serena's face was well worth the minimal effort of getting her the treat. Hermione knew that she shouldn't play favourites with her patients but she couldn't help it with this one. The little girl, like so many other children, didn't deserve to be here. She should have been out playing like any four year old girl, getting bumps and scrapes that could easily be healed with a murmured word, not this prolonged treatment. The least Hermione could do was spoil her a bit while she was here. She walked over to the bed and looked at Serena's mother. "Do you mind?"

Serena's right hand, her dominant one, had been severely burned so she could not feed herself, she had to be hand fed every meal. Usually one of her parents did this task as the trainees didn't have a lot of time to spare but Serena had been Hermione's last patient to check before she took her break and she could afford the time. Serena's mother shook her head and smiled. "Do you mind if I step out to Floo call her father?"

"Go ahead," Pansy said from behind Hermione. "We'll stay with her."

"Thank you," the mother said as she left.

Hermione sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, careful not to jostle Serena or brush up against her. "You ready for this?"

"Yep!" Serena said happily, opening up her mouth.

Hermione scooped a large spoonful of the pink, sparkling ice cream, and held it up to the girl's mouth. She made an adorable "hoomph" sound as her lips closed over the spoon and Hermione heard Pansy chuckling as she settled into the mother's chair.

"Good stuff?" Pansy asked, Serena nodded as Hermione held out another spoonful. "That was my favourite when I was little too."

"I also like mint chocolate chip and Purple Pixie," Serena said before "hoomphing" another mouthful.

"Isn't that the one that makes your voice all high and squeaky?" Hermione asked her.

"Yep!" Serena beamed while Pansy and Hermione shared a look that said Serena would never be given Purple Pixie ice cream while in their care.

Several mouthfuls later and the ice cream was almost gone and Serena was humming happily while Pansy relaxed with her coffee, sharing some hospital gossip that was 4 year old appropriate. The rich smell of her drink was enticing and Hermione was starting to regret not buying some for herself. She scraped the bottom of the bowl, getting the last of the ice cream on the spoon.

"Okay, last one," Hermione said, watching the little girl swallow. "Let's see that tongue!"

Serena giggled and stuck out her tongue. As expected, it sparkled like a thousand diamonds, a result of the ice cream. Hermione made a big show of examining her tongue, turning the girls head this way and that, before announcing, "It's perfect!"

Serena laughed again just as her mother walked in the door. The older witch beamed at Hermione and Pansy.

"How was your ice cream, darling?" she asked her daughter.

"Look Mama!" Serena stuck out her tongue for her mother's inspection.

"Oh! Would you look at that!"

"Healer Granger said it was per—"

" _Paging all section seven Healers and Trainees! Paging all section seven Healer's and Trainees! Code Red on Ward 4! I repeat, paging all section seven Healers and Trainees for a Code Red on Ward 4!"_

Hermione put the bowl down and gave Serena a quick kiss on her forehead where the skin was unblemished. "I have to go sweetheart, be good for your mama, I'll see you in a few hours, okay?"

Both Pansy and Hermione left the room quickly. "Will you check on her in about three and a half hours? If I'm not back, can you make sure her bandages get changed?"

Pansy nodded. "Of course, go on. Send me a memo and let me know if I need to have another trainee take over your patients."

"Thanks Pansy!" Hermione said as she rushed down the hall.

Hermione was a section seven Healer Trainee, someone who specialized in treatment and healing of Magical Creatures or part Magical Creatures. It took a significant amount of skill to treat non-wizarding beings because their heritage often afforded them protection against a witch or wizard's magic. It was often hard to get around those natural barriers to treat the patient, and even then one had to be careful to use potions and spells that would not react badly with their inherent magic. As Hermione rushed along to the fourth ward, she heard a commotion coming from one of the rooms. Speeding up, she rushed in and saw that the previously quiet room was in complete and utter chaos.

There were several Healers, Trainees and even a few Medi-wicthes surrounding one patient's bed with their wands out. Bird like shrieks were coming from the bed, high pitched and full of rage. In the split second it took Hermione to react she saw the patient's foot shoot out and strike a Healer, sending him flying backwards, as one of the Trainees lost her grip on a struggling arm. There was the unmistakable sound of cracking bone as the patient struck the Trainee across the face. Hermione rushed over to the head of patient's bed, intent on holding down their shoulders.

As Hermione reached the bed, the Trainee regained her balance and, quick as lightening, reached out and grabbed the patients arm once again. It was impressive considering how much pain the Trainee must have been in after taking such a blow. Hermione pushed the thought out of her head as she used both hands to press down on his shoulders—at least, she was pretty sure the patient was a 'he'.

She was unsure because, at the moment, the patient didn't have a human face. Where a mouth should be there was a large and deadly looking white beak, which was the source of the bird like cries were coming from, the eyes were no longer a human-like oval, rather, they were round and bulbous and very similar to a Bald Eagle's. The rest of the patient's face had narrowed with a bird like quality and small down feathers had appeared at the temples, blending in with the white blonde hair.

"Where's the Veela sleeping draught?" Hermione called out, not taking her eyes off of the head of her patient, right below her. She was using all of her strength and weight to hold his shoulders down but if she let herself get distracted for even a second he could slip out of her grasp and maul her.

"It's coming!" someone else's voice cried out.

"Shhh..." Hermione dropped her voice to a softer tone, hoping to calm the patient though she knew there was very little that they could do for a Veela in this state. Only their mate could truly calm them. "It's okay, it's going to be alright. Shhh..."

The patient turned his head to the right so that he could fix her with a silver beady eye. She couldn't be positive but she thought she might have felt the muscles under her hands relaxing just the slightest. He was still fighting the other Trainees and Healers but at least he was concentrating on her.

"Hello there," Hermione said, smiling a tad. "I know this is scary, especially if this is your first transformation, but I promise you that you're going to be just fine. I need you to calm down and trust us, we're here to help you, okay?"

The patient blinked at her and let out a plaintive cry from his murderous looking beak. It wasn't the same angry sound that she had heard when she came into the room, this one pulled at her heartstrings. He was scared.

"I know," she murmured. "It's terrifying, but you're going to be just fine. I promise you, I'll take care of you, okay?"

He let out another cry and turned his head even farther, seeking out her right arm that still held down his shoulder. Hermione twitched and almost pulled away, worried that she was about to lose a finger or two, but she forced herself to remain calm. How could she convince this patient that she was going to take care of him if she showed him that he scared her, too? She needed to be calm for him and so she resisted the urge to yank her hand away as his long, sharp beak brushed against her forearm.

The effect was instantaneous.

His body stilled, tensing for a brief second, before he relaxed completely. The Healers and Trainees looked around at each other, stunned, as his limbs suddenly stopped thrashing, his body stopped bucking and he let out what sounded suspiciously like a contented sigh. Hermione watched, equally stunned, as the Veela in front of her nuzzled his beak against the delicate skin of her inner wrist, inhaling her scent deeply. She was just about to open her mouth and ask what the heck was going on when the beak began to shrink before her very eyes.

She watched, gobsmacked, as the bird-like features slowly melted back into those of a man. She knew without looking that the rest of the St. Mungo's staff were also staring at the man's face but she couldn't have torn her eyes away even if someone had announced that Voldemort had just walked through the door.

Because she now knew that Draco Malfoy was, at the very least, part Veela.

And he was currently placing small, open mouthed kisses to her wrist.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Hermione gasped and wrenched her arm away from Malfoy.

Instantly, his eyes sprang open and he let out a shriek of anger. She was relieved to hear that his voice had returned to that of a man but was terrified to see that his eyes held no recognition in them. He reached out for her, both hands grasping, as she backed away. He saw her movement and those eyes flashed an ominous silver, his face clouding with rage once again.

"What are you doing?" The Trainee, who had received the blow to the face, grabbed her arm and yanked her back over to the bed, causing Hermione to stumble.

Draco growled at the Trainee and grabbed _her_ arm, pushing the other woman away from Hermione with one hand, while reaching out for Hermione with the other. As soon as his hand closed around her wrist his grip loosened and he gently pulled her closer. He seemed to calm instantly, his eyes returning to their usual shade of grey and his face losing that slightly manic look to it. Using both hands, he brought her hand to his face and held her palm against his cheek, turning his face into it and gently placing a kiss in the center. Hermione gaped at him, feeling as if the world had somehow just tipped arse over teakettle.

"Does someone want to explain to me exactly _what_ is going on here?" Hermione demanded softly, she didn't want to startle the man holding her hand to his face.

"It seems that you calm him," she looked up to see the head of Ward 4, Healer Bray, looking at her with something akin to pity.

"I see that," Hermione said, her voice shaky, "but there's only one thing that can reverse a Veela transformation."

"I know," Healer Bray said, meeting Hermione's eyes square on.

"This can't be happening," Hermione gasped, her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and she suddenly felt as if her knees would no longer support her in the fight against gravity.

She leaned against the side of Malfoy's bed and tried not to hyperventilate as the undeniable truth came crashing down on her. Hermione had _always_ been a logical and rational person; her mind relied on solid fact the same way her body relied on oxygen to survive. She had studied Magical Creatures from the first day of her training at St. Mungo's, she knew practically everything there was to know about Veela and part-Veela. She _knew_ that only a Veela's mate could calm them down in the middle of a transformation like that, her rational brain could not deny it.

But she wanted to. Oh, she _so_ wanted to.

Because there was no way she could be Draco Malfoy's soul mate. There was no way _he_ could be _her_ soul mate.

"I'm afraid it is, Trainee Granger," Healer Bray said, not unkindly. "We're going to have to change your schedule for the time being."

"I have to stay with him?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Healer Bray nodded. "He's too distraught right now. When he regains control of his human consciousness, then you may be able to leave his side, but he won't let you stay away for long. You're going to have to work something out with him and his family."

"I will _not_ be speaking to his family," Hermione spat, the sudden venom in her voice surprised even her. She saw several of the Healers still standing around look at her in shock. It was no secret that Hermione Granger had been taken and tortured by the Malfoy family during the war but most had assumed that she had gotten over it since she never discriminated against former Death Eaters like Pansy Parkinson. But while Hermione could accept the presence of people like Pansy and Blaise in her life—for Blaise was still one of Pansy's best friends and he often visited—she could not and _would not_ become chummy with Lord and Lady Malfoy. She could not look at either of them without being transported back to the night that she writhed, screamed and bled on their sitting room floor.

Healer Bray raked her eyes over Hermione quickly before nodding once. "Okay, I'll let his family know that he's stable but that he cannot be visited quite yet. Make no mistake, Granger, you _will_ have to deal with them sooner or later."

Hermione shrugged and glanced back down at Malfoy who looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep. He seemed so peaceful now, his face was more relaxed than she had ever seen it, and there was no denying the fact that he was a beautiful man. He had filled out a bit more since the last time she had seen him, at his trial, making him look less pointy than he had during their youth. His jaw line was hard and masculine, his high cheekbones giving him that elegant look and his skin was surprisingly soft. Still, she felt nothing but numb denial and a simmering anger just under the surface. She refused to be moved by his vulnerability.

"Alright, well, let's clean up this room and get Trainee Granger a chair, she's going to need it," Healer Bray said briskly, her words setting the other staff into action. The witch with the fractured cheek bone quickly stepped out of the room, probably to seek a mediwitch to heal her, while another conjured a tall chair for Hermione. With quiet efficiency, the others started levitating the leather restraints and Veela potions out of the room.

She sat down gratefully as the Healers and Trainees worked efficiently around her. Malfoy seemed oblivious to everything around him except for the touch of her hand. He had turned on his side as she sat down so that he faced her, pillowing his cheek on her hand. He closed his eyes, his breath evening out as the staff continued to work around him, setting up the room for long term care. Hermione watched while trying not to think about whose breath was warming her wrist.

When the rest of the staff had cleared out, Healer Bray gently approached Hermione while keeping an eye on the sleeping Malfoy. It was a well known fact that Veela could get very territorial and if Malfoy wasn't fully functioning with his human consciousness, he might lash out at Healer Bray for being too close to his mate. Fortunately, he seemed completely unaware as he slept on.

"I shall notify your supervisor of the circumstances and we'll make sure your rotations are taken over by one of the other Trainees for the time being," she said quietly. "Is there anyone else you'd like me to notify?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'll let my family know when I have a better idea of what's going on."

Healer Bray nodded. "Alright, well, do you need anything?"

"A really large coffee would be nice," Hermione said quietly, afraid to look at the older woman for fear of crying.

"That I can do," Healer Bray smiled and slipped out of the room, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts...and Malfoy.

She sighed and pulled her wand out of her robes, thankfully Malfoy had chosen her left hand to use as a pillow and not her wand hand. She quickly Conjured a piece of parchment and a quill so that she could write a note to Pansy:

_Pansy,_

_It seems that I've managed to land myself in a rather complicated situation. I'm going to be staying with my patient for an indefinite amount of time, everything depends on what happens when the patient wakes. In the mean time, Healer Bray is going to talk to Healer Wong and have some of the other Trainees take over my rotation. Would you mind asking for Serena? She likes you. Thank you for your help, I owe you.—Hermione_.

It was short and she knew that Pansy would be curious about what exactly was going on but Hermione couldn't share this information. It wasn't like this was some stranger that neither of them knew, this was Draco Malfoy, childhood friend of Pansy. Hermione had no idea how close the two still were or how Pansy would take the news; she suspected that the other girl had always harboured a secret hope to be the next Lady Malfoy, which meant that the news would not be taken very well. Hermione was slightly surprised that a Parkinson-Malfoy marriage hadn't happened already but, then again, the war had changed a lot of things for everyone.

After the trials most of the Death Eater families had disappeared from English Wizarding society, many of them moving to other European countries, some even going as far as America. They were still monitored by the British Ministry of Magic, and the Ministry of whatever country they resided in, of course, but only a few had stayed. The Malfoys had been one of the ones that stuck it out, which hadn't shocked Hermione in the slightest. They had always been proud, it wouldn't have sat well with them to turn tail and run. As far as Hermione knew, Draco Malfoy had started working on his Potions Masters while his parents served out their separate sentences. Lucius had been sentenced to ten years in Azkaban while Narcissa had been given five years house arrest. Malfoy had been put on a two year probation where any law breaking would have had him sent straight to Azkaban with no questions asked. The probation had only ended a month prior, which Hermione knew because it had been splattered all over _The Daily Prophet_.

Malfoy shifted in his sleep, bringing her attention back to him. She wondered how he was going to react when he awoke to find himself faced with her as a mate. If he was anything like Pansy, he would not be pleased. But what could he do about it? What could _she_ do about it? Nothing. That was the answer. If she stayed with him, the Veela in him would insist on bonding with her, if she left him he would deteriorate and live a half life, a miserable existence.

Staring at his peaceful face, she had never felt more trapped, not even when she was facing the tip of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand.

With a muffled cry, Hermione pillowed her head on her free arm and let the tears come.

 

**XXX**

Draco woke to the scent of oranges in his nose. He couldn't remember where he was, or how he had gotten there, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that. He had never felt so relaxed, so content so...whole. He breathed deeply, inhaling the citrus scent again and savouring it. It wasn't just the oranges that he liked, there was an undercurrent to it, something else that he couldn't identify but that he loved. He wanted more of it. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see a woman sitting in a chair next to his bed. Her head was face down on the mattress beside him, her brown curly hair spread out in waves around her shoulders. It sounded like she was singing softly to herself. He realized that she was the source of the delicious scent at the same time he realized he was in a hospital and that she wore the robes of a Healer Trainee.

He shifted slightly and became aware of the fact that his face was pillowed on her hand but she didn't seem to notice his movement, she was too absorbed in what she was doing.

"Parsley, Sage... Rosemary and Thyme..." she sang softly. "Remember me to one who lives there...he once was a true love of mine..."

Draco frowned, he knew the song but it was the voice that confused him. He recognized that voice from somewhere. He was about to open his mouth and ask what was going on when he realized that she wasn't just singing, she was crying as well.

"Tell him to find me an acre of land..." her breathing hitched and she swallowed heavily. "Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and..." the song cut off in a soft sob.

For some reason the sound of her distress made _him_ upset. He couldn't explain it, but he wanted to pull this strange woman into his bed, hold her in his arms and kiss her until she stopped crying. He had never been a fan of weeping females, he found that they were masters of manipulation—even better than he—and could turn the waterworks on at the drop of a Knut. This was different, though, there was something about this woman, something that... Merlin! He didn't know what it was but he didn't like it. It felt like an itch crawling under his skin, where he could not scratch, but he somehow knew that _she_ could sooth it.

Her hand twitched, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone, and the movement shocked him into jerking back. Instantly, she sat up and turned to face him, her brown eyes red rimmed and swimming in tears, her make-up smeared on her face.

" _Granger_!"

"Hello, Malfoy," she said softly, wiping the tears off of her face with her hands, "I'm glad to see that you're awake."

"What is the meaning of this Granger?" he demanded, sitting up and glaring at her. What in the seven circles of hell had happened? Why was she crying at his bedside? Why had she been holding his _face_?

"You're in St. Mungo's," Granger said, patiently, ignoring his attitude. He noticed that her eyes were puffy and she looked exhausted. He didn't understand the surge of concern that seemed to come from nowhere.

"I realize that," he snapped, more angry with himself than with her. "Why?"

"Because you were transforming," she said softly.

His eyes widened and his breath stopped in his chest. "Fuck," he swore softly.

"Oh, it gets better," Granger assured him, her voice bitter and sarcastic. "I'm assuming you know _why_ you were transforming?"

He nodded his head and raked his hands through his hair. "Sort of? I...I know what—that I'm a...fuck!"

Granger nodded and, thankfully, didn't say the word. "You were transforming because you've hit...maturity."

"Maturity?" he repeated, looking at her like she was an idiot. "I don't know if you've noticed Granger, but I'm already an adult, how can I have only reached maturity now?"

She sighed and brushed some of her curly hair out of her face, he noticed that it wasn't as frizzy had it had been in their youth but it was still just as wild. "Just because the Wizarding world deems you to be an adult at the age of seventeen doesn't mean that your body does."

"This is...because of...?"

"Yes, your...heritage is kicking in. It's like puberty but...well, it's a lot less gradual and a lot more...invasive," she finished lamely. Again, he noticed how tired she looked as her eyes continued to droop.

"And why are you here?" he hadn't meant for it to sound as harsh at it did but he could tell from the way her lips tightened that he had insulted her.

"Because I am a Trainee that specializes in Magical Creatures and part-Magical Creatures. I was called to the Ward when you were brought in. Unfortunately, it all went tits up from there," she said angrily, her brown eyes flashing.

Draco's eyes widened, he had never heard her curse before and he had a sick feeling that he was trapped in a nightmare where Granger cursed like a sailor and his father's Veela legacy came back to bite him in the ass. "Tits up?" he repeated.

"Yes," she glared at him, as if everything were his fault. "You stopped mid-transformation when I arrived."

"I _what_!" Draco yelled, his eyes widening in panic as he sat straight up. He knew what that meant. It couldn't mean what he thought. It just couldn't—

"Oh yes," she said sarcastically. "Hello dearest, and welcome to my nightmare."


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

"I...I—wha?" Draco spluttered, watching Granger's face as she continued to glare at him.

"Oh come ON, Malfoy!" she said, slamming her little fists down onto the soft mattress. He briefly thought that she would have had more satisfaction had the action actually made a noise. "You and I both know that there's only one reason why a Veela will stop mid-transformation and calm down enough to _sleep_!"

Draco gaped at her, refusing to believe what she was saying. "You're _not_ my mate! Not _you_!"

"Oh? I'm not?" A wicked little grin split over her face, something he'd never seen before, and Draco suddenly felt nervous. _What on earth is Granger up to? She's lost her bloody mi—oh! Oh! No! NO! COME BACK!_

"COME BACK! COME BACK! HERMIONE, PLEASE! COME BACK!" Draco didn't know when his thoughts had turned into words but as he watched her walk through the door of the room and out into the hall he felt a sudden panic that he couldn't control. He was irrationally terrified that he'd never see her again, that she could get hurt out there where he couldn't protect her, that someone would take her away from him. Before he knew what he was doing, he threw back the blanket that was covering him from the waist down and launched himself out of the bed. He would find her, he would bring her back to him and she would stay with him. She was _his_.

He raced out into the hall, heart pounding, only to stop short at the sight of her waiting for him, her arms crossed over her chest and a glare on her face. He didn't stop to think about it before he flew at her and pulled her into his arms. He was at least a foot taller than her so it was easy to do. He yanked her to him and felt her body crash into his chest, with her arms against his ribs. He didn't care that she wasn't hugging him back at the moment; all he cared about was that she was in his embrace and she was safe. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders tighter, crushing her to him, as he buried his face in her neck, letting the strands of curly hair tickle his face. He breathed deeply, inhaling her unique scent mixed with the oranges that seemed to be coming from her hair.

"Malfoy," his mate's voice was soft and hesitant as she slipped her arms around his waist. He sighed happily and pulled her even closer so that her entire body was flush against his. He felt her hand running over his back, making large sweeps from the base of his spine to his shoulders and back down again, it felt nice and gave him gooseflesh. He pressed his face closer to her and smiled against the skin of her neck. She was in his arms, he could protect her, and she was comforting _him_ , she must lov—

"What the _hell_ is going on here!" a voice screeched from behind his mate.

Draco's body reacted instinctively: he tightened his grip on his mate and spun them around so that he was between her and the danger. Releasing her, he turned around to face the threat, one hand keeping his mate pressed to his back so that he could know where she was. He squared off with another woman, a woman who looked familiar—

" _Draco!_ " she screeched again. " _What the hell are you doing with Hermione!_ "

"Pansy!" his mate shouted from behind him. She tried to walk around him but he shifted so that he was able to step in front of her again. He heard her impatient sigh but she didn't try to out manoeuvre him again. Instead, she resumed rubbing his back with one hand as she popped her head under his arm so that she could see the other woman. "Pansy, it's complicated, let me explain later. Just get out of here, you're in danger right now!"

"Danger!" she repeated, looking furiously between Draco and his mate. She took a step towards them, making Draco push his mate back as he kept the distance between them and the threat. He let out a screech of warning as he felt his body begin to change. His skin tingled all over, especially on his face and hands, and he looked down briefly to see that his nails were getting longer and darker. His vision started to change, sharpening in focus as the colour drained away.

"Draco?" the woman whispered, looking at him with her mouth open.

" _Draco!_ " his mate yelled. Before he could stop her she had run around him and put herself between him and the danger. _NO! I protect_ you! He screeched at her, but she didn't seem to understand him. He grabbed her arms and yanked her around so that his body was a barrier again but as he went to release her and turn back to the woman, his mate reached up and grabbed his face.

"Draco! _Please_ , listen to me!" she cried, tears were starting to fall down her cheeks. He reached out to wipe the tears off but his nail scratched her cheek, causing a thin line of red to appear on her soft skin. She winced in pain and Draco's stomach dropped. He had hurt her! He had—

"Draco! It's okay, just listen to me, okay?" her voice sounded frantic, as she rushed through her words. "Pansy isn't a going to hurt me! She's just shocked and upset! Please, don't hurt her, for me? Please?"

Don't hurt Pansy? _Pansy_? He knew...knew that name? He turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the woman. She looked familiar and the answer was at the edge of his consciousness. He felt like he was chasing the thought around the large expanse of his head; his thoughts were hazy, the only thing that was clear in his mind was that he needed to protect his mate. He cast another look at the other woman; she was still standing there, her mouth open and her face betraying disbelief. He had to admit that she didn't look like much of a threat. Turning back to his mate, he stared at her slightly bleeding cheek and let out a soft sound, an apology.

"I know," his mate whispered. "I know you're sorry, you didn't mean to. It's okay, I forgive you."

He sighed and let his head drop onto her shoulder, pressing his forehead to the curve of her neck. He felt her wrap her arms around him and hold him close, one hand rubbing his back and the other going to his hair, threading her fingers through it. He sighed again and pressed himself closer to her comfort. She seemed to know exactly what he liked; her nails were gentle on his scalp but her hand firm against his back. She placed a soft kiss on his temple, causing him to press closer to her, before her body suddenly became rigid and she pulled away slightly.

"Let's get you back to the bed, okay? You need to relax in order to change back, so let's lie down, the two of us, okay?" She didn't seem to be able to meet his gaze but he couldn't bring himself to worry about it as a wave of lethargy hit him, full force. He nodded gently and let her pull away from him. She reached out and took his hand, careful of his talons, and without looking at the other woman they both walked back into the room. Draco eyed the bed and then himself, he was still fully clothed, wearing a black dress shirt and grey trousers. He felt that he should take the clothes off but he was too tired and his mate was rubbing his back again, soothing him even further. He slipped into the bed and scooted over so that she could join him.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and toed out of her white trainers, leaving them on the floor beside the bed, before she swung her legs up and slipped them under the covers. He felt her leg brush his and he threw the covers over the two of them before he shifted closer and pressed the side of his body against hers. She seemed to know what he wanted because she held up one arm and said, "Come here."

He moved into her embrace, resting his head in the crook of her shoulder, his face pillowed against the side of her breast. He closed his eyes, content, as he felt her arm wrap around him, her thumb rubbing his skin through the shirt. He was just drifting off to sleep when he heard her soft voice once more.

"You're going to be _so_ pissed off when you wake up."

 

**XXX**

Hermione felt the tension leave her body as Malfoy slipped into sleep, his body relaxing and his breathing evening out into long, soft breaths. She heard a sound at the doorway and looked up to see Pansy standing in the doorway, staring at the two of them in the bed as if she couldn't believe her eyes. Hermione couldn't blame her. If Harry or Ron could see her now they'd both probably faint.

"It's okay, come in, just try to be quiet," Hermione said, gesturing with her free hand. "If he wakes up before he changes back he may attack before he realizes what he's doing."

Pansy shuffled in quietly, her eyes never leaving Malfoy's face. Hermione looked down at the head pillowed on her chest and smiled in relief; his features were melting back into his usual aristocratic male beauty.

"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed, looking back at Pansy. "I was terrified that he was going to attack you for a bit."

"What is going on Hermione?" Pansy asked, her voice a little unstable, her eyes still glued to Malfoy.

"Well," she sighed, "I wasn't going to tell you because it's really not my secret to share but...well, Draco is part-Veela."

Hermione watched Pansy's face transform from confusion to understanding to horror as her green eyes met brown. "He's Veela!"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I'm assuming you know what this," she gestured to the two of them on the bed, "means?"

"You're his mate?" Pansy asked as she sat heavily in the chair that Hermione had occupied previously.

"It would seem so," she said gently.

"But...but that's impossible!" Pansy said, still staring at Malfoy's now normal face. "You're...you're a Mud—"

Her words cut off abruptly but they both knew what she was about to say. Pansy's eyes flew to Hermione's and for a brief second she saw guilt flash through them but then Pansy was standing up, her face tight with anger. "I have to go."

Turning on her heel, she strode out of the room as Hermione watched silently. She sighed to herself; she knew that Pansy was upset and deep down, she knew that some part of Pansy still thought of Hermione as lower than her. The near slip with the word 'Mudblood' proved that, if nothing else. But what could Hermione do? Nothing Pansy could say or do would change this otherwise Hermione would have already done it. The only thing she could do was talk about her options when Dra—Malfoy was conscious again. He shifted in his sleep, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to his body.

Looking down at him again, she swore quietly under her breath. She had been an idiot, taunting him like that. She had wanted to prove a point to him but she had gone about it in the wrong way; she felt like smacking herself for using his nature against him. It was petty and cruel and it could have gotten Pansy killed. Merlin, she had been terrified when Draco started to transform again and she did the only thing she could think of to calm him down: show affection. What bothered her the most was how natural it felt to comfort him, to hold him to her body and allow him to bury his nose in her hair. She tried to tell herself that it was merely her Healer's instinct, that it was part of her job to offer comfort to a patient, but she couldn't swallow the lie, not when she had found herself willingly kissing his face.

She knew that there wasn't anything she could do about any of it at the present time so instead of spending the night awake and uncomfortable, Hermione sighed and decided to deal with the morning when it came. With that decision made, she shifted until she was comfortable, put the lights out with her wand and closed her eyes. She would deal with it all later.

 

**XXX**

If she dreamt while she slept, she didn't remember, and when she woke in the morning it was to the soft sounds of Healers moving from room to room, checking on their patients and getting breakfast trays ready for them. Hermione blinked several times, trying to focus on what was right in front of her. She reached up to rub her eyes when her hand brushed against another warm body. Jerking back quickly, Hermione realized that she had had her face pressed up against Malfoy's chest. She looked up quickly and her heart fell as she saw his grey eyes watching her carefully, his emotions completely masked.

"I...I...," she pushed away from him but there wasn't as much room on the little hospital bed as she expected and she felt herself starting to slip off the edge. She gasped in fright, her mind conjuring an image of her slipping off and cracking her head open on the chair next to it, but before it could become a reality she felt a hand close around her arm and yank her forward. Once again, she found herself with a face full of Malfoy's chest. _I should start a tally, this is what, number four?_ She thought to herself as she pushed her body upright.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Malfoy didn't say a word; he was staring at her, his face curiously open and—for the first time in her memory—not sporting a scowl. She wasn't sure what to say to him so she sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Her blue Trainee robes were wrinkled from her sleeping in them but it was nothing a quick smoothing charm wouldn't fix. She shoved her feet into her work trainers and hopped off of the bed. Without turning to look at Malfoy she said, "I need to find Healer Bray, she's in charge of your case, I'll be back."

She hurried out of the room but paused just outside the door to make sure that Malfoy wasn't going to follow her. She waited a few heartbeats but she heard no movement from the bed, only the sound of a body flopping inelegantly back onto the mattress, though she highly doubted Malfoy could do _anything_ inelegantly, even flopping. When she was positive that he wasn't going to rush out of the room after her, Hermione began smoothing out her robes as she walked down the hall to the Ward's Healer station in the hopes of finding Healer Bray. It seemed that the Fate's were finally conspiring in her favour because when rounded the corner and the station came into sight, she found Healer Bray holding a chart in her hand and tapping her wand against her temple.

"Healer Bray!" Hermione said, hoping that she didn't sound as frantic as she felt.

"Ah, Hermione," Healer Bray put the chart down and faced the young Trainee. "Oh, dear, let me heal that for you."

Hermione frowned as Healer Bray directed her wand at Hermione's face. When she felt the tingling of a healing spell she remembered that Draco had accidentally cut her the night before.

"Thank you," she said.

"It's nothing," Healer Bray said, pocketing her wand. "How is everything this morning?"

"Oh, he's fine," Hermione said, then she winced. "Well, we did have a little issue with another Trainee last night but I managed to calm him down before anything bad happened."

"Yes," Healer Bray looked back at the chart. "Ms. Parkinson?"

"How did you—"

"She fire called me at an obscene hour, distressed about Mr. Malfoy. I assured her that what you had told her was correct and that it was a matter to be dealt with between yourself and Mr. Malfoy but I fear that she did not heed me and contacted Mr. Malfoy's mother, Lady Malfoy," Healer Bray said, gesturing with the chart that Hermione realized must have belonged to Malfoy.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair and only then realized that it had fallen out of the bun it had been in before. She had no idea where the hair tie had gone but now her hair was tumbling in curls all around her shoulders. Thankfully, her hair was no longer the wild frizzy mass that it had been when she was younger. She had learned how to use products so that her hair fell in soft curling waves instead of resembling a nest. Still, she was pretty sure she looked a fright.

"So what has Mrs. Malfoy said, or done?" Hermione asked.

"Pelted me with a million owls and fire calls since I got in this morning," Healer Bray said darkly, casting an eye at the cheery fire burning in the hearth behind the Healer's desk. There were several fire places along each floor for emergency flooing. "There's not much she can do right now because of her house arrest status but I've advised her that I will keep her up to date about her son's case. I have not confirmed that you are, indeed, his mate."

Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. "I have the world's biggest headache coming on."

"Come," Healer Bray said. "Let's go back to Mr. Malfoy's room and see how he's doing, then we can get you something for that headache."

They walked back to Malfoy's room quickly, far too quickly for Hermione's liking. Healer Bray led the way into the room and when Hermione followed she found that Malfoy was sitting up and talking to Pansy, who was perched on the side of the bed. Hermione felt a flash of irritation for the other woman and wondered why she was there. Hadn't Hermione specifically told her that she would inform her later? She tried to squash down the irritation quickly, knowing that it was silly and irrational, but she wasn't sure she succeeded because when Pansy looked up her face reflected the same sentiment.

"Good morning Mr. Malfoy," Healer Bray said briskly, approaching the bedside. "Trainee Parkinson, is there a particular reason why you are here?"

"I am Draco's friend," Pansy said, her tone resembling the old, snide Pansy. Hermione felt her spine stiffen at the sound of it and the reminder that she and Pansy were never _really_ friends.

"Be that as it may, you are not a relative or a spouse so I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room while I discuss Mr. Malfoy's case with him," Healer Bray said, not unkindly.

"Is _she_ staying?" Pansy demanded, not looking at Hermione, who was—despite recent events—shocked at the venom in Pansy's voice.

"Yes, Trainee Granger will be staying."

"But _she's_ not family! She's not even a _friend_ of Dra—"

"Ms. Parkinson, you are aware of the situation at hand here and even if it did not directly affect Ms. Granger, a Veela mate is as good as a legal spouse, if not more so, therefore she stays," Healer Bray's tone brooked no argument and the look she was giving Pansy was one that Hermione hoped she was never on the receiving end of.

"But—"

"Ms. Parkinson! I will not repeat myself, the next words I will be speaking on your behalf will be to your supervisor!" All kindness had disappeared from Healer Bray's face.

"Pans, just go," Malfoy said softly, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "It'll be fine, I'll fire call you later."

Pansy stood rigidly and stalked past both Healer Bray and Hermione without a word or a passing glance. Hermione watched her go, feeling her temples start to throb even more.

"Well, there goes _that_ budding friendship," she muttered to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

"I wasn't aware that you were friends with Pansy, Granger," Draco said, watching the younger witch carefully. Granger really needed to work on schooling her face into indifference, not only had he heard every word she'd muttered but he could tell that she was at her breaking point emotionally; she was stressed, hurt and confused.

He watched her with an interest he'd never expressed before; in the light of day he could see how much she'd changed in the two years since they'd seen each other. Of course, she had changed a lot since they were eleven years old but he had been around for most of those changes and so the gradual shift from frizzy haired, know-it-all girl to the woman who had stood up and given testimony at his trial wasn't that shocking. What _was_ shocking was the difference between that woman and the one that stood before him now. Hermione Granger had grown into one of those women who had a subtle beauty; you wouldn't do a double take as you walked by her but you'd find yourself admiring the length of her legs or the curve of her neck when you least expected it and that's when it would hit you—she's beautiful.

"We're colleagues, it helps to get along," Granger said stiffly.

"I see."

Her eyes swept over him in a critical way and he knew that she was viewing him as a patient and nothing more but that didn't bother him in the light of day. He remembered snippets of what had happened the previous night: when he had realized that his body was out of control and it was shifting, when he had woken up with Granger's hand pillowing his face, or when he had nearly attacked Pansy. He still felt horribly guilty over that, he had hoped that he wouldn't have to tell his friends what he was—even though he knew it wouldn't be an issue with any of them—but that had been taken out of his hands when the Veela in him perceived a threat to his mate. Of course, Pansy _had_ been looking at Hermione like she'd love nothing more than to _Crucio_ her. Even now, when he was conscious and not acting like an animal, he felt a shudder go through him at the thought of someone hurting his...whatever she was.

"Well, let's get down to business," Healer Bray said briskly. She waved her wand over him, an orange glow falling from it and hovering over his body before it turned a light pink. He heard Granger sigh and looked up in time to see her expel a large breath and put a hand over her eyes.

"What? Is that bad?" Draco asked

"Why would you think that's bad, Mr. Malfoy?" Healer Bray asked. "It means that you're healthy."

He turned to Granger and sneered. "Disappointed Granger? Hoped to be rid of me?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Actually Malfoy, I'm relieved considering that anyone can see that you've not been eating or sleeping properly for at least a couple weeks. Excuse me for giving a shit."

She turned and walked away from him, heading to the windows, her arms crossed over her chest defensively. Her Trainee robes were slightly wrinkled from having been slept in and her hair was mussed up rather spectacularly but instead of retracting from her appearance, it made her look better. _Actually,_ Draco thought to himself, _she looks like she's just been thoroughly shagged_. He scowled again as his mind began tripping over itself to figure out if she actually _had_ been shagging and who it was with—so that he could kill the git, slowly.

"Mr. Malfoy," Healer Bray said, waving her wand and dispelling the pink glow, "have your wings erupted yet?"

"No," Draco sighed. "I had rather hoped I wouldn't get to that part of the transformation."

"So you are aware of what will happen?" Healer Bray asked, her eyebrows arching. Feeling rather uncharitable, he fought the urge to scowl at her surprised expression.

"I know the basics, I did some reading when I found out what I am," Draco supplied, his voice dull.

"Well then, I'll go over it all with you, just to fill in any blanks you may have," she said, settling herself into the chair as if it was going to be a long discussion. Draco rather hoped not as his eyes darted to Hermione's rigid frame.

"Most pure Veela reach maturity around 15 or 16 years old but because you have wizard blood the process is delayed a bit, which is why you've only reached maturity now, at 19." she gestured to him with a sweeping hand. "When the body reaches maturity the Veela blood starts to make itself known by giving you the urge to seek out your mate. If, for whatever reason, you cannot find your mate, the Veela blood goes into over drive, causing you to shift into the Veela form. For pure Veelas this would mean a full transformation from a human body shape to that of a large bird, for yourself and others with only part Veela blood, the transformation may not be as complete. The degree of transformation depends on the individual but you seem to be fairly restricted to the face and hands. That being said, I have never seen a part-Veela who didn't have wings."

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had really, really been hoping that that wouldn't happen. He didn't want wings, he didn't want any of it but he figured that wings would be particularly difficult to hide if he lost control.

"You're lucky my dear," Healer Bray said with a kind smile, reaching out to pat his knee. "You've found your mate."

Draco fixed his gaze on the woman beside him, wondering if she was all there. Had she not heard of the history between Granger and him? Did she really think that this was a _good_ thing? Merlin's beard, he could only wait to hear what Granger thought about all this. She'd probably want to use him for research and he knew, instinctively, that he'd do it. He'd do anything for her. Just knowing that she was supremely pissed off with him at the moment, not even willing to look in his direction, bothered him. It was constantly there in the corner of his mind, the Veela, telling him to make up with his mate, to make her happy, to make her smile. He hated it.

Healer Bray continued as if Draco hadn't been staring at her like she was bat shit insane. "She will be able to help you control the transformations. One of the perks of being mated is that you'll always have an anchor to keep your grounded in reality. It's easy to lose yourself in the instincts but with Hermione's help you will be able to learn how to keep your head about you, even when the transformations take over."

"There will be times when you won't be able to control the transformation; when you feel that you or your mate is threatened, for instance, or during the bonding process," he heard Granger choke over at the window and his head whipped around to see her pressing her forehead against the glass, her head shaking back and forth slightly. "It's very common for your wings to erupt while making love to your mate as well, it's a disp—"

"Wait!" Draco shouted. "Who said anything about...about... _that_?" He couldn't make himself say the words "make love" and "Granger" together but nor did he seem to be able to make a crude remark either. He knew it would hurt her and, despite everything, he didn't _want_ to hurt Granger. If the truth were to be told, he'd stopped wanting to hurt her the day he had seen her screaming in agony on his sitting room floor. The memory flashed in his mind, her face screwed up in a soul shattering scream as his Aunt stood over her and laughed.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Healer Bray stood up and stepped back quickly, her eyes on his hands. He looked down and saw that they were no longer _his_ , rather, they looked like the talons of a Veela.

"Draco!" his eyes darted to the window at the sound of his first name. Granger practically flew from her post over to the bed. She didn't hesitate as she jumped up onto the mattress beside him, holding herself up on her knees she reached out with both hands to hold his face between her palms.

"Draco, look at me, talk to me, what's wrong?" she whispered, her eyes intent on his face.

Her gaze was intense, she was scared, but not of him it seemed. Something in him relaxed at her touch, something that he hadn't even known was tense and straining, but as soon as her skin touched his, he knew that she was alright. Her brown eyes searched his, full of concern, and he opened his mouth without really knowing what he was going to say until it was already tumbling off his tongue.

"I'm sorry."

She frowned. "Sorry?"

"She cursed you and I didn't stop her, I'm sorry," he whispered.

 _Oh god,_ Draco thought, _what am I saying? Why am I talking about this?_

She stiffened and leaned back, letting go of his face. Without thinking about it, he leaned forward, trying to keep his body as close to hers as she would allow. He reached out for her, gripping her arm gently in his talon fingers. She winced and he pulled his hand away quickly, unsure if it was his touch that repelled her or that he had hurt her with his sharp nails, either possibility made him feel sick.

"It's alright," she whispered. "I just have a few cuts on my arms, that's all. It's not you."

Her gaze said that she meant it, she even gave him a tentative smile.

"Let me see them Ms. Granger," Healer Bray said, coming forward again.

"Oh, it's nothing. I can—"

"Nonsense, I think it will put Mr. Malfoy at ease to see you healed," she said in her no nonsense voice. Draco had to admit that the Healer was right. He'd prefer it if he knew that Herm—Granger was hale and whole.

Healer Bray strode forward and lifted up Granger's sleeve which, he only noticed now, was cut in three places. She revealed three long gashes, not very deep, but still painful looking on Granger's upper arm, right where Draco had tried to hold her. He looked down at his hands and their five long nails before looking back at Granger's arm, feeling shittier and shittier with each passing second.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

She reached out with her free arm and slipped her hand into his. Giving it a gentle squeeze she said, "It's okay. You didn't mean to."

Draco nodded, not able to look at her. Instead, he focused on their linked hands. He watched with mild interest as his fingers started to shorten and the nails returned to their normal form. "How do you always know what to say?"

"She's as much in tune with you as you are with her," Healer Bray said vaguely as she finished up on Granger's left arm and moved on to the right. "It's part of the mating process, the magic of it all. You are connected to her and she is connected to you; your first instinct will be to protect each other, comfort each other, see to the other's needs. You can try to fight it, but it won't be pretty."

She sounded rather sure of herself, Draco noted, though he wasn't sure how he felt about this new information. He watched as she directed her wand at the four cuts on the other arm, the reddened flesh melting back into the smooth pale skin dotted with little brown freckles, and felt relieved to know that Hermione was no longer in any pain. He still felt horrible that he had caused it in the first place but she hadn't let go of his hand yet, which had to count for something. He looked back down at their joined hands; they both had pale skin but she was a few shades darker than he, her skin dotted with the odd scar here and there, his sporting a faded burn mark from a failed potion.

"Healer Bray, I think Dra-Malfoy has a sufficient understanding of what's happening here and anything he doesn't understand I can advise him on," Granger said as she climbed off the bed. Worried that she was going to release his hand, he tightened his grip on it, watching as his fingers curled around her smaller hand. She squeezed back gently and he looked up to see her watching him with a slight frown on her brow. "What I'm really interested in hearing is your professional opinion on what course of action we should take now."

Draco shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You still sound like a text book."

"One of us has to," she told him, she sounded exasperated but he could see the slight upturn to her lips.

"Are you sure? Because I'm positive that we would both survive if neither of us sounded like a walking encyclopaedia," he said.

"Uh huh," she scoffed, a wry grin forming on her face, "and deny you the pleasure of teasing me?"

With a start, Draco realized that he _was_ teasing her. But it wasn't the mean, cruel teasing that he had often inflicted upon her when they were younger. No, it was more of the 'I'm laughing with you' kind of teasing. He stared at her for a second, trying to comprehend the full scope of this new relationship that he seemed to have been thrust into.

"How kind of you," he murmured, still staring at her. "You know that my life would be incomplete without the opportunity to drive you insane."

This time it was Granger who rolled her eyes but she did so with a smile. She turned back to Healer Bray. "So what is your suggestion?"

He turned to look at Healer Bray at the same time; her face was alight with a smile, her eyes dancing between the two of them. She clapped her hands together happily.

"I think you should move in together."

Draco suddenly had a headache.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

" _What?_ "

Hermione stared at Healer Bray as if she had lost her mind.

"Hermione," the Healer crossed her arms over her chest and gave the Trainee a stern look, "you know what will happen if there is a forced separation. He'll find you, no matter where you go, it's part of the magic."

"But that only happens _after_ the bonding!" Hermione cried. "And I've not bonded!"

"No, you haven't bonded," Healer Bray said, "but you've accepted him nonetheless."

"I—No! I haven't!"

"You slept with him—"

"We shared a bed! We didn't sleep _together_!" Hermione said, hearing the frantic note of panic in her voice.

"I know that," Healer Bray said gently, "but when you brought him back to the bed and held hi—"

"But—"

"According to Ms. Parkinson you held and soothed him until he fell asleep, you even said 'come here'," Healer Bray said. "You may not have realized it, but to a Veela, that is acceptance."

"But I—" Hermione looked at Draco, who was still holding her hand. As soon as she realized, she pulled her hand from his and backed away, registering the look of pain that flashed across his face before he schooled it into indifference. She couldn't bring herself to care, she was panicking. Hermione Granger couldn't move in with Draco Malfoy! How did this happen to her? How did she go from successful, _single_ , Healer Trainee to the mate of the Malfoy heir? She was practically married now! Signed, sealed and delivered!

"I don't want this," she choked, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

"I know, dear," Healer Bray said kindly, coming around the bed to put an arm around her shoulders, "but neither did Mr. Malfoy and while I know it's a lot to take in, this doesn't have to be a bad thing. You don't _have_ to bond, you can live a relatively normal life together as...roommates of sorts."

"No, we can't," Hermione gasped, tears starting to fall. "I want to marry and have children some day! I want a _family_! I can't have that anymore!"

"Yes you can—"

" _NO I CAN'T!_ " she screamed, jerking out of Healer Bray's hold. "I can _never_ be with another man or he'll kill him!"

"You and Mr. Malfoy can have—"

"Children?" Hermione finished, laughing hysterically. "Don't delude yourself, Healer. Just because he's forced to want me doesn't mean he'll taint his precious bloodline by having a _Mudblood_ bear his children."

"I would appreciate it if you would stop speaking about me as if I'm not here," Malfoy said calmly from the bed. "Or as if you know how I feel." Hermione looked over at him, noting that he looked significantly paler and his hands were bunched into fists, but for all that his voice was dead calm.

"Oh, fuck you, Malfoy," Hermione spat. "You don't like being talked about? Does it _bother_ —"

"Hermione," Healer Bray interrupted, "you don't have to make any long term plans right now. You and Mr. Malfoy could stay at his Manor for a bi—"

Hermione burst out laughing again. It was a full belly laugh but it had no humour or mirth in it. She gasped as she tried to speak, "His Manor? You couldn't _pay_ me enough to set foot in that hell hole! One visit was _plenty_."

"Who said I'd want you there?" Malfoy demanded suddenly, his anger momentarily over powering his emotionless mask.

"Oh, _right_ ," Hermione said in a false sweet voice. "I forgot, you only have Mudbloods in your home when you're torturing them, my mistake!"

"That's not—"

"I don't care" she snapped at him before turning to Healer Bray. "Please inform Healer Wong that I will be returning to my usual rotation this evening, I need to go home and get some proper sleep before my shift tonight."

Without another word, Hermione turned and walked out of the room, not sparing Draco a second glance.

"Hermione!" Healer Bray cried, following the young Trainee as she left the room. "This is not wise! You know what will happ—"

"No!" Hermione said, holding up her hand to the Healer. "What is not wise is trying to force me into this...this...whatever the hell this is! I'll not have it! If I have to ward my house so that Dumbledore himself couldn't get in then that's exactly what I'll do!"

With that, she walked towards the nearest Floo, tossed in a handful of powder and left the other Healer alone in the hallway.

 

**XXX**

Hermione stepped through her fireplace and into the sitting room of her modest little house. When the war finally ended she had decided that she needed a space of her own, something that could serve as an escape from the world. With her Order of Merlin, First Class, came several thousand Galleons of money and she had set out to find the perfect place to call her retreat. It had taken her a while but she finally found a quaint cottage in the countryside of Essex, it was outside of the hustle and bustle of London but it had a large wizarding community so she wasn't cut off from the world.

Sighing, she kicked her shoes off and whipped the blue Trainee robe over her head before casting it over the back of one of her cushy armchairs. She heard a plaintive meow from her feet and looked down to find her cat, Crookshanks, peering up at her with his squashed face. She bent down and scooped him into her arms, cuddling him close.

"I know, I'm a bad Mummy, but some things came up at work and I couldn't escape it," she told him, rubbing his head the way he liked it and enjoying his ensuing purr. She walked through her sitting room, down the hallway and into the loo where she deposited Crookshanks onto the closed toilet seat. She knew that he was smarter than your average pet, he was clearly magical, but that didn't stop her from stripping in front of him. He was still a cat, after all. She turned on the shower, divested herself of clothing and threw her t-shirt onto the fluffy monstrosity—who glared at her from an arm hole—and stepped into the hot stream of water. As she washed, she told her cat about her day and listened to his meowed replies. She often wondered if he actually understood her and was trying to tell her that she was an idiot. She left out the part about Malfoy, just in case.

When she was done she jumped out and dried off, taking her dirty clothes to her bedroom with her, with Crookshanks making up the rear guard. She changed into a pair of comfortable sweats and a tank top that she could sleep in before heading out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Crookshanks left her at the kitchen and went to the sitting room where he knew she would end up. They had a routine, the two of them, and it always ended with a cup of tea, a book and a snuggle in one of the squashy armchairs by the fireplace. When Hermione got to the sitting room she found her caramel coloured feline waiting, his tail flopping happily, on the arm of their chair.

"A man after my own heart," she smiled at her cat, "There's a reason why you're the only one I can live with."

She sat down, put her tea on the table next to the chair and Summoned her book from the book case as Crooks settled into her lap. Opening up the book to where she had left off and propping it up on her already purring cat, she forced herself to focus on the text before her. _Not_ Draco Malfoy or anything that could be traced back to him.

 

**XXX**

It wasn't until four days later when she finally heard from a Malfoy again. However, the blonde head that appeared in her fireplace was not the one she had originally expected and a tearful Narcissa Malfoy was not a Malfoy that she knew how to deal with. Hermione had tried very hard not to think about Malfoy at all over the past four days but she hadn't managed to succeed. She was plagued by a consistent nagging feeling that she needed to see him, or speak to him. She put it down to her Healer training; it was her instinct to want to make sure someone was physically alright, it was nothing more. She also tried very hard to block out Healer Bray's words about her being as connected to Malfoy as he was to her.

Truthfully though, she wasn't shocked when her fire roared, changing to a bright emerald green colour. If it hadn't happened that day, she would have caved sooner rather than later and checked on him.

"Ms. Granger!" Narcissa Malfoy cried, her distress evident. Hermione sat up in shock; she had been slouched in her chair, enjoying her day off, reading with Crookshanks on her stomach. The cat grumbled as he was displaced but Hermione barely paid him any attention as she shot up from her seat and ran to the hearth.

Kneeling down, she stared dumbly at the woman in her fireplace. "Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Draco is unconscious!" Narcissa said, tears streaming out of her eyes. "He won't wake, no matter what the Healer does! _Please_!"

"I—I don't know what you want me to do!" Hermione said, her heart beat was thudding through her veins despite the fact that she had told herself that she didn't care what happened to Draco Malfoy. "I'm not a fully qualified Healer, I—"

"You're his _mate_!" Lady Malfoy cried, " _Please!_ He needs you!"

"Christ!" Hermione swore, her Muggle upbringing showing through. She stared at the tear streaked face of the woman who had thrown her only two protectors into a dungeon while she had her body carved into like a Muggle Jack-o-lantern. Even though this woman looked nothing like the one from that sitting room, she was one in the same and Hermione hated her. The "No!" was on her lips as an image of Dumbledore, lying peacefully in his coffin, floated into her mind. Somehow, the face in her mind smoothed into youthful features, the hair became short, fine and white blonde. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest and she knew what she had to do, even if it did mean condemning herself to a life tied to Draco Malfoy. "Fine. Back up, I'm coming through."

Narcissa Malfoy's disembodied head nodded rapidly, looking thoroughly relieved and disappeared with a soft _pop!_ Hermione stood up and took a deep breath, hoping against hope that she wasn't making a big mistake by going to the Malfoy Manor. It wasn't that she was afraid it was a Death Eater trap, she didn't believe that Narcissa was that good of an actor, but she still had some horrible memories from that place. Not to mention that Narcissa Malfoy must be extremely desperate to have turned to a Muggle-born witch for help.

She turned to Crookshanks who was watching her from the floor with a glare on his squashed face. "If I'm not back by tomorrow, feel free to raid the cupboards," she told him. She could have sworn she saw him smile a toothy, cat-like smile. Shaking her head, she took a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. It roared with green flame again and as she stepped into the tickling warmth she cried, "Malfoy Manor!"

The world spun and she closed her eyes, tucking her elbows in, as she went along with the ride. Sooner than she expected, Hermione felt the spinning slow and deposit her in what she was sure one of the Malfoy's many fireplaces. Stepping out, she brushed the soot from her clothes and found that Mrs. Malfoy was standing there, wringing her hands, next to a burly man in a Healer's green robes.

"Where is he?" she demanded, not waiting for pleasantries like introductions.

Narcissa didn't seem to care about them either because she grabbed Hermione's hand and started dragging her out of the room. Hermione was startled by the physical contact, she hadn't expected that, but she didn't complain as she was dragged down a long hallway and into a spacious suite that was decorated in light greens and earth tone browns. In the middle of the room, on a massive bed, was Draco and he looked horrible.

His skin was taut over his cheekbones and far paler than usual, there were dark shadows under his eyes and even from her position at the door she could see that his breathing was uneven and shallow. She rushed over to his bed, surprised by how her stomach knotted with fear. Without looking at the Healer she demanded, "What does he need?"

Reaching out, she brushed his hair off of his forehead, watching as his entire body twitched. She pressed her fingers to the pulse point in his neck and was dismayed by how irregular the beat was.

"You," the Healer said simply. Both he and Mrs. Malfoy had entered the room and were standing just behind Hermione, who was sitting on the side of the bed. "He needs your presence, physical contact, the more the better."

"How did he get this far?" Hermione asked.

"Sheer will power, I expect," the Healer said. "I hate to say it but I'm impressed by his stubbornness. He didn't want to come to you even though his body was demanding it. Eventually it just shut down. It's a natural Veela response."

"Natural?" Hermione echoed, finally turning to look at him. The man nodded sagely and Hermione impatiently gestured for him to continue, this was information she had not heard before. She knew that things would be unpleasant for Draco, that he would feel...empty...but she had had no idea that he would waste away like this.

"The Veela instinct is to draw out his mate at any cost, the hope that you would come to him if he were dying is why it shuts down," he shook his head, rather sadly. "If you didn't, well, there's no point to living for the Veela if the mate doesn't reciprocate their feelings."

Hermione looked back at Draco and she felt like crying. She had done this to him, course he had helped, but she had pushed _him_ away, not the other way around. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her jangling nerves as she thought about the situation as a Healer would. What would she suggest if she were not directly involved in the case? The Healer had said that he simply needed her and physical contact with her—she stood up suddenly and pulled her light cardigan off, throwing it at the end of the bed.

"Ms. Granger, what are you doing?" Narcissa asked, her voice lacking the typical sneer.

Without turning to look she said. "He needs physical contact right? The more the better?"

"Yes, that's right," the Healer said.

"Well, that's what I'm about to give him," she said determinedly. Leaning over him, she whipped back the thick duvet. He was wearing a pair of black silk pyjamas which she quickly began unbuttoning.

"Let me help you," Narcissa ran to the other side of the bed and climbed to the middle where Draco was lying. Together, she and Hermione lifted him up so that they could slide the shirt out from under him. Next, they tackled his slacks. Narcissa lifted her son's hips as Hermione pulled the silk material off of him. She was secretly relieved when she saw that he was wearing a pair of plain grey boxer briefs because no matter the circumstances, that would be awkward with his mother in the room. When Draco was sufficiently unclothed, Hermione stood and continued undressing. There was no need to stand on ceremony considering the situation and the fact that the Healer had probably seen more naked women than a gigolo. She wasn't worried about Narcissa Malfoy's thoughts, not only was she a fellow woman, but Hermione was pretty sure she hadn't taken her eyes off of her son. Hermione couldn't be bothered to check because she hadn't taken her eyes off of him either.

Quickly stripping down to her under things, she got into the bed and slipped under the thick duvet so that she could press her skin against his. She lifted his arm and snuggled in close, wrapping an arm around his waist and throwing a thigh over his legs. His skin was cool to the touch and not in a good way; it was as if the blood had stopped flowing through all of his veins. She squeezed his body tight to her and whispered,

"C'mon Draco, after everything we survived, you can't go out this way. I won't let you."

Mrs. Malfoy sat down on the side of the bed, a quiet sob escaping her at Hermione's words but the younger woman didn't pay any attention. She was focused on the fact that Draco's skin was starting to warm to her temperature. She looked over her shoulder at the Healer and addressed him.

"How long, do you think?" She refused to accept the idea that she was too late.

"Before he's out of danger? A couple hours, probably," the Healer said. "He will be weak for a day or so, I imagine. I can't make any definite predictions, I've never seen anyone resist this long."

Hermione nodded and put her head back down on Draco's chest, listening to the sound of his heart and the air rushing into his lungs. Something happened in that moment, almost as if something inside her settled into its proper place. Despite the fact that Draco was hovering on the verge of death, she had never felt so _right_ in her entire life.

She knew now that she could never leave him, even if he hated her for it.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Draco was warm and comfortable. He couldn't remember feeling this good; he was completely relaxed and feeling remarkably well rested. Stretching, felt another body beside him, causing his eyes to fly open. The sight that met his eyes resulted in a rather strong sense of déjà vu; the body curled up intimately with his belonged to Hermione Granger and her brown curly head was once again tucked into his chest. He remembered waking with her this way in the hospital and just like then, the whole situation felt _right_. Her arm was flung carelessly over his waist, her thigh over his and her breath ghosting across his nipples, making them harden. He stared at her and was once again struck with how beautiful she had become; she looked vulnerable in sleep, vulnerable but peaceful. Her lips were slightly parted and as he watched, they moved slowly, as if she were trying to speak. Draco was intrigued and hoped that she may start talking in her sleep but she merely pressed her face closer to his chest.

He sighed and absently started running his hands over her back, like she had done for him, as his mind went over the last couple of days. He wasn't exactly sure how many days had passed since he had last seen Granger but he was pretty sure it was about a week or so. He knew that he had passed out around day three and his body felt stiff so he wouldn't be surprised if someone told him he had been unconscious for two or three days.

He had tried to fight the instincts. Oh, he had tried _so_ hard. He knew from the moment she stalked out of the hospital room that he would _not_ go after her even though his body had given an involuntary jerk as he watched her leave. It was like he was at war with himself; the Veela in him wanted to go find her and bring her back with him—even if he had to Stun her in the process—but the rest of him had pride and refused to go after a woman who dismissed him without thought. Her presence in his bed suggested that she had had a change of heart and his curiosity burned to know how, and why. He couldn't blame her for not wanting him, after all, they had a rather tormented history together. Draco squeezed her tighter to his body as he remembered her angry words: _Just because he's forced to want me doesn't mean he'll taint his precious bloodline by having a Mudblood bear his children_.

Burying his nose in her hair, he inhaled deeply. It smelled like oranges and...Hermione. There was a time when she would have been right, he would have thrown himself off the nearest tall building rather than have a Muggle-born witch bear his children but time had changed a lot of things, the war had changed a lot of things. Three years ago he wouldn't have been caught dead holding Hermione Granger's practically naked body tight against his equally naked body but here he was, cuddling her closer as the thought ran through his mind. The truth was that Draco had stopped thinking of Hermione as a "Mudblood" from the moment he saw her thrown onto the rug in his family's sitting room and _Crucio_ 'd by his Aunt. He had seen so much pain, seen so many people tortured and killed. He had tortured some of them at the threat of receiving the same punishment if he didn't comply. He remembered watching her writhe on the floor and scream until it sounded as if she would rip her throat apart and all he could think about was how, mere days earlier, that had been him. The Dark Lord had been displeased with Lucius and so, he had taken his anger out on the man's son. Draco had screamed himself raw until his throat tore and he coughed blood, until he passed out with the pain. It was at that moment—watching her agony, knowing exactly how she felt, and knowing that he couldn't do a thing to stop it—that he realized there was nothing separating him from her. They had both bled on the same carpet, they had both cried there, they had both wondered if they were about to die and longed for it if only it would stop the pain.

Course, he had never been able to admit that to anyone, he still had his pride and it wouldn't look good to be going back on ones previous statements, but when the Ministry had asked him under Vereteserum whether or not he hated Muggles and Muggle-borns he had honestly answered "No". He couldn't say that he loved Muggles; he didn't understand them and he feared the influence that Muggle-borns were having on Wizarding culture. But did he hate them? Did he want them dead? No. He had experienced the same pain and torture, the same fear, that Muggles and Muggle-borns had during the war and it had opened his eyes to the reality of what he was doing with his life.

Hermione shifted and stretched, pressing her soft thigh against his groin in a way that made him painfully aware of his morning erection. He shifted backwards slightly, not wanting her to think that he was coming on to her, though, now that he thought about it the idea of pulling her underneath him, ripping those cotton knickers off and plunging himself inside of her was quite appealing. Of course, he would like it if she were awake and willing for the process, which she wasn't at the moment. What she _was_ doing was driving him insane; she had snuggled herself against him once again and began running her hands over his body in a way that left him with shivers—and not because it tickled.

He resumed his own ministrations against her skin, his hand brushing over a petite shoulder, down her ribs and over the smooth curve of her hip. Her cotton underwear, Pansy had called them 'boyshorts' when she had dragged him out shopping a couple months ago, did little to cover her arse but he certainly wasn't complaining as his hand swept over it gently. Hermione made a soft sound in the back of her throat and pressed her hips into him. Draco let out a soft grunt at the friction, wanting more but unwilling to seek it out, not until she was awake. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he was enjoying waking her up in this manner far too much. He swept his hand over her hip, letting the back of his hand and his knuckles graze her stomach and the swell of her breast before cupping her face.

He knew it was the Veela blood in him that made him want her like this but he couldn't help but think that had there been no Veela genes in his ancestry he would have still found her attractive. He would never have told her, or acted on it, of course but he was sure it would have been there. How could it not? His Veela genes did not make him blind to her flaws; he knew she was still the crazy bookish girl he had known in school, she was still bossy and a know-it-all, but she was also a beautiful woman and if her presence in his bed was anything to judge by, she was still self-sacrificing. He rubbed his thumb against her cheek, brushing close to her eye, in hopes that it would wake her fully.

It did. He watched as two sleepy brown eyes opened and gazed at him blearily before slowly closing again. She nodded for some reason and then tucked her face into the curve of his neck, apparently intent on going back to sleep. Draco chuckled and ran his hand down her back again.

"We can't stay in bed all day, Hermione," he said, her first name rolling off of his tongue without hesitation.

Her body froze, her muscles tensing and locking up. He almost sighed but she didn't give him the chance as she pulled back, her eyes now fully alert and shocked.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out.

Draco frowned slightly, that wasn't what he had been expecting. "I don't know if you noticed but I wasn't exactly pushing you away."

She blinked and looked down at their bodies, her chest pressed against his stomach, her face at eye level with his sternum before she looked back up at him. "I'm sorry I left you."

Draco raised his eyebrows, shocked. "I..."

"I shouldn't have," she continued, ignoring him. "I was angry and scared but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It wasn't fair to you, you didn't ask for this any more than I did."

Draco nodded stiffly as he remembered her gasping out, " _I don't want this"_. Gently, he released her from his hold and shifted back. Her gaze dropped and when she spoke again, her voice shook.

"I'm sorry for...for touching you like that I just..." her breathing hitched and Draco realized that she was crying. "You were dying."

"Hermione," Draco said, she looked up, startled at the use of her first name, and he saw that her eyes were indeed filled with tears, "let's get one thing straight, shall we?"

He tentatively moved closer and reached out a hand to brush the hair off of her face. "You're not a—a Mudblood to me. I don't believe in that bollocks anymore"

Her eyes widened and a few tears fell from them, he moved his hand and wiped them away with his thumb. "I just know that you don't want this—this life with me," he whispered.

"I—" she began but was cut off by a voice from the doorway.

"Hello? Oh! Draco!"

They both turned to see Mrs. Malfoy standing in the doorway looking as if Christmas had come early. Draco whipped his hand back, not wanting his mother to see him trying to be intimate with a woman who happened to be in her underclothes and in his bed. He had a feeling that his mother had already known about the details but still, he didn't want to advertise where his thoughts had been. He already knew how his mother felt about Hermione being his mate, and she hadn't reacted the way he had expected, which had shocked him immensely.

"I understand, my darling," she had said the day he had come home from the hospital. "Do I wish it had been someone else? Yes of course—no, don't interrupt me," she had held up a hand to halt his words. "You know that blood status _does_ mean something to me, even if it doesn't to you, but I am trying. It's hard to change one's ways when you're halfway through your life. That being said, I understand because your father is my soul mate, he completes me in every way. I know that neither of you have any control over this, and I also know that it means that Miss. Granger is as perfect for _you_ as I am for your father. I didn't choose your father and trust me, there were times when I wished I had had the choice but this is part of who you are as a Malfoy. Veela blood has been in your father's family for generations, it's a rather badly kept secret."

He still didn't know what his father thought of the whole situation or indeed, if he even knew at all. He hadn't talked to his father since he had started noticing the differences in his body and decided to find out what was causing it. How could he have known that the restlessness, the inability to sleep, and the horrible cravings for sweets would have led him here?

"You're awake sweetheart!" His mother came into the room and sat down on the side of the bed closest to Hermione as if nothing were amiss. Draco glanced at Hermione and saw that she was not only red in the face but she was biting her lip and wouldn't look at either of them. He shifted closer to her and slid his hand under the blanket, searching out hers.

"I am, Mother," Draco said, keeping his face neutral as his fingers found Hermione's and curled around them. "How long was I out for?"

"Just a few days," she said casually, as if she hadn't been panicking, which he knew she would have been. "I called Hermione when Healer Grey couldn't wake you and she came right over."

Then, Narcissa Malfoy, wife of an infamous Death Eater, gave Hermione a dazzling and genuine smile. Draco's jaw dropped open. He knew she had been understanding when he informed her of his mate's identity but he hadn't expected her to be so...so...welcoming? A quick glance at Hermione told him that she was just as flummoxed.

"Well, get dressed you two, breakfast is waiting," she patted Hermione's blanket covered knee as if she walked in on her son and a Muggle-born witch in bed every day before standing up. "Draco, the summer room, if you will?"

"Of course, Mother," Draco nodded, still in a daze. Narcissa smiled and left as quickly as she had come. Hermione turned to him, her eyes wide.

"What just happened?"

Draco grinned despite himself. "Narcissa Malfoy just practically rolled out the Welcome Mat for you."

Hermione quickly stole a look at the door that his mother had just left through before turning back to him.

"Pinch me."


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

Hermione had to be dreaming, because if she wasn't dreaming then Narcissa Malfoy had just treated her like... like a human being.

Of course, the Malfoy's hadn't been anything but painfully polite to her since the war ended but there was no doubt in her mind that they still thought she was the dirt under their expensive shoes. To hear Draco tell her that she wasn't "Mudblood" to him anymore confused her greatly, she had no idea how to understand him if not by the Pureblood morals that he had always toted. And if he didn't think she was dirty, why did he pull away from her so fast when his mother came into the room? Was he afraid of what she would say if she saw him touching a Muggle-born? He didn't know that Narcissa had all but thrown Hermione on him the night before, helping her strip him of his clothing so that she could press her own skin against his. He didn't know that she had fallen asleep, comfortably nestled against him, and dreamed of a man with grey eyes, soft lips and a kind smile.

So when she asked Draco to pinch her, her motivations were twofold: one, to see if she really was dreaming and two, to see if he'd willingly touch her.

He grinned at her again and she was momentarily stunned by the way his face changed. His usually sour expression was the only one she felt familiar with; he had always smirked nastily or sneered whenever she was around. Of course, she had seen him smile before, but it had never been directed at her. But now...now he was grinning happily at her. It lit up his entire face, changing him into a man she didn't know.

Quick as lightening, Draco reached out and pinched her arm. "Ouch!" she jumped and rubbed the area he had assaulted.

"You asked for it," he said, shrugging.

She narrowed her eyes at him slightly. "I didn't think you'd _do_ it."

Draco laughed and she found herself smiling without a thought. He leaned in closer to her, so close that she could have kissed him, and he whispered. "I'd like to see you punish me."

Hermione swallowed hard at the implication, feeling the blush that warmed her skin and set her heart to beating heavily in her chest. She watched Draco's pupils dilate, almost as if he could tell, and she knew that if she didn't get out of the bed right that second she would do something stupid. Like lean forward and kiss him.

She jumped up, not even pausing to think about the fact that she was practically naked, and bent to look for her jeans. She found them on the floor as they had been kicked off the bed sometime in the night. When she straightened to slip them on she found that Draco was lying on the bed, his arm propping up his head and watching her with an indecent amount of interest. She glared at him half heartedly because, really, he was trying too hard. Still, despite his arrogant, 'I know I'm beautiful air', she swallowed hard as she took in the sight of him. Draco Malfoy topless, the blanket hanging around his narrow hips and an almost predatory grin on his face belonged on the cover of a Muggle magazine.

"Will you stop it?" she said, pushing both feet into her jeans and pulling them over her hips. "This is not a free show."

"No," Draco drawled, sounding more like his old self. He even smirked at her, but it hadn't an ounce of malice in it. It wasn't so much the lust in that look that terrified her, it was her body's reaction to it. "But this is a show I'd pay for."

Hermione turned bright red and quickly grabbed her tank top, pulling it over her head. She didn't quite know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything. She threw her cardigan over the tank top, if only to remove more of her skin from the weight of his gaze, which still lingered despite the fact that her curves were now covered modestly.

"You need to get dressed," Hermione said, turning her back to him, "if we're going to leave this room together."

"If you insist," he drawled again. She heard him shifting on the bed and then his footsteps across the room. She should have been expecting him to walk across her field of vision and would have had her head not been all over the place. But the fact of the matter was that her head _was_ all over the place and when Draco walked by her in his tight fitting boxer briefs—which left nothing to the imagination—she found herself blushing bright red again. Mentally, she scolded herself, she was no virgin, why was she acting like this?

She knew exactly why; because it was Draco Malfoy and he was...he was... _hot damn_.

His body was lean and hard; arms that were defined with wiry muscles hung gracefully at his side, his abs seemed to be carved out of his skin, and a delicious looking V lead her eyes straight to his pants. When he turned his back on her she got a completely different, but equally enticing, look at what he had to offer humanity. The muscles in his back shifted as he reached out for a pair of slacks from a dresser drawer, and when he bent over his arse became her sole focus. She would have been disappointed when he slipped his trousers on had they not fit him so well. Hermione absently lifted a hand to her mouth to make sure it wasn't open and drooling.

"You're staring," Draco said calmly, without turning to look at her. She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"I am not," she said hotly, turning around so that it was true.

"Mmhmm," was all he said.

She bit into her cheek painfully, hoping that it would bring her back to reality. She was standing in Draco Malfoy's bedroom, her heart pounding and her body flush with a desire that she didn't fully understand or want. She knew when she walked through the fireplace to Malfoy Manor that everything would change but she hadn't expected the magical bond between them to intensify, though the fact that she was surprised was just another nod to the fact that her head was not in this game. He was taking her off guard at every turn and it left her feeling unsteady and uncertain.

Within minutes, Draco was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a light blue button down shirt which offset his eyes nicely. "Shall we?" he asked, as he started rolling up the sleeves on one arm. He struggled with it a bit, his fingers fumbling with the simple task. She eyed him with a professional glance, the only way she could look at him recently without her body having awkward reactions, and realized that he was still weak from everything. He had walked with his usual swagger and fluidity that she had momentarily forgotten that he had been on the brink of magical death mere hours earlier and that his body was still recovering. She didn't think about it as she walked over and reached for his arm.

"Here, let me," she said, deftly rolling up his right sleeve to just below his elbow, "that good?"

"Yes," he said softly. Something in his voice told her that if she looked up at him now, she'd be in more trouble than she was prepared to handle and she kept her eyes firmly on her task.

"Other arm," she said, reaching for it. To her surprise, Draco hesitated before he handed over his left arm. She realized why as soon as she started rolling the sleeve up. She had only flipped the fabric over twice before she saw the head of a snake tattooed in black ink on his arm. She paused, staring at the brand. Slowly, she folded the fabric back some more, revealing more of the Dark Mark that permanently marred his skin. It was such a contrast, the inky black against his alabaster forearm. She finished folding his sleeve to match that of the right, but instead of stepping away from him and turning around, she gently held his arm in her hands and inspected the tattoo.

She ran her fingers over it lightly expecting to feel bumps and ridges; she was shocked to find that it was as smooth as the rest of him.

"Did it hurt?" she whispered.

"I thought I was going to die," he whispered back.

She nodded and traced the outline of the skull with her index finger, her eyes roving over the deathly grin of the mouth and the snake protruding like a grotesque tongue.

"This is not me," Draco whispered, his other hand coming up to cover her exploring finger. "Not anymore."

She nodded again. "I believe you. I don't know why, but I do."

Draco released her finger and used his hand to tip her chin up so that she was forced to look at him. She met his steady gaze as he smiled softly at her, his hand still under her chin. She tried to return the smile but she wasn't sure she succeeded because she was caught up by the look on his face. She had never seen him look at her with such sincerity before. His eyes darted down to her lips and suddenly her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips instinctively and she saw his pupils dilate once again as he leaned in smoothly. Before his lips could reach hers, though, she jerked back out of his hold and clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

"I haven't brushed my teeth," she mumbled through her hand.

Draco stared at her for a split second, looking disbelieving, before he started to chuckle. "You haven't brushed your teeth? Well neither have I!"

With that, he reached out and pulled her hand away from her mouth as he yanked her body towards him. He didn't give her the option of pulling back as his mouth met hers, his lips claiming with no thought to morning breath or bad oral hygiene. Hermione stopped breathing; Draco's lips were soft but firm, hard and demanding. His kiss was nothing like those she had shared with Ron when they had first confessed their feelings for each other. Ron had not been a sloppy kisser but Draco made him look like a novice next to his mastery of it. He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and plunging the other into her wild hair as he licked and nipped at her lips.

When Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and threw herself into the kiss, responding with her own passion by opening her mouth to his tongue and pressing her hips closer to his, something in Draco seemed to snap. With a moan that was almost animalistic, he reached down and grabbed her arse, pulling her up and close, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. Before she knew it she was pressed between a hard wall and Draco's lean body, being devoured by his tongue.

And she loved every second of it.

She gasped as his tongue tasted the roof of her mouth and his hips pressed into her body. She thrust against him instinctively, the action sending delicious vibrations of pleasure through her body as he met her move for move. Somehow, her hands found their way into his hair and she grabbed fistfuls of it, pulling it hard until he released her mouth with a moan that was part pleasure, part pain. Breathing heavily, Hermione leaned forward and bit down on his neck before soothing it with her tongue and lips. She knew she might leave a mark but she couldn't bring herself to care, especially when Draco let out a sound that was so close to a growl that it sent shivers down her back. His fingers dug into her thighs and as his hips snapped forward, bringing them to a point where they were practically having sex with their clothes on. He rutted against her shamelessly and she loved it with equal abandon.

She sucked on the skin of his neck, right over his rapid pulse point and he let out another low, moan as he reached up with one hand and pulled her tank top down to expose her cotton covered breast. Hermione was privately glad she hadn't bothered to button up her cardigan, not because the offending item would have had its buttons ripped off by Draco, but because it was one less layer between her skin and his mouth. As if he was reading her mind, he pulled down the cotton cup and latched his mouth onto her nipple. She let out a yelp of pleasure, her breathing hitching in her throat as she threw her head back so hard it hit the wall with a very loud thud.

She felt like she was out of control; she had never felt such passion, such desire for a man before. Never had someone's touch drove her to this brink of insanity, where her rational mind fled and her body took over; she was pretty sure she could climax from his rhythmic thrusts against her core alone and that was something that had never happened to her. She felt like a tightly coiled spring, ready to burst out of its confines and enjoy what she knew would make her feel like she was flying. How did he do this to her? How did she end up in this position? How did—

Draco bit down lightly on her nipple, causing all thought to leave her brain as she moaned loudly. She may have moaned his name, she wasn't sure, because she was barely conscious of anything besides the fire in her veins and the flicking of his tongue that sent sparks flying through her skin. He used the one hand that wasn't helping hold her up to fumble with her jeans, trying to pull open the button one handed. She was just about to help him when she heard the very distinct sound of someone Apparating into the room.

_Pop!_

"Mistress is asking young Master and his guest to be please joining her in the summer room," said a squeaky voice to her right.

Both Draco and Hermione froze. Hermione let out a small whimper as Draco stopped moving against her body and quickly pulled her top up to hide her exposed flesh from the view of the House Elf. Hermione turned and looked at the Elf in the white, starched pillow case as Draco slowly let her legs slide down to the floor. She was glad that he kept her pressed against the wall as he buried his face in her neck and groaned, rather loudly, because she wasn't sure she could stand just yet.

"Um," Hermione said, breathlessly. "Thank you...um..."

"I is being called Kali," the Elf said helpfully.

"Ah, yes, thank you Kali. We'll be down in a minute," she said, her hand absently combing through Draco's dishevelled hair as he breathed heavily against her skin.

"I is telling Mistress that!" the Elf said, smiling widely as if nothing were amiss. "Thank you, Miss!"

The Elf disappeared with a loud _crack!_ and Hermione turned her head back to Draco so that their cheeks were pressed against each other. She felt as if a fog was slowly lifting and her brain began to function once again; it was rather a good thing that the Elf had interrupted them because she knew exactly where they were headed and they needed to talk before _that_ happened. They were both still breathing hard and she could feel the light stubble on his face as it scratched her with every breath he took. She smiled softly and pressed a kiss to his neck, where she could see a livid red mark beginning to form. She was still throbbing from the need to have him closer, to have him finish what he had started but she knew it wasn't going to happen. She swallowed down her frustration as he pulled back and looked at her with his wide pupils.

"We should probably go down there before she comes up to find us," Hermione whispered.

Draco smiled softly. "Only if you promise me we'll pick this up again later."

Hermione blushed hotly but grinned, she didn't think she'd be able to say no to him. It was a slightly disconcerting thought.

"I promise," she whispered, reaching down and redoing the button of her pants. "But first, I think we need to fix up a bit."

She pressed the pad of her index finger to Draco's closed lips and grinned as his eyes widened when he felt her magic sweep through his mouth. Hermione had become quite efficient at wandless magic, Harry had helped to teach her. After she finished cleaning his mouth for him she reached up and ran her hand through his hair once, watching as the knots untangled themselves and the hair fell forward to hang stylishly over his forehead. Next she took both hands and smoothed them over his shoulders, smiling as the creases from their little bump and grind smoothed out. Sliding her hands over his hips, she resisted the urge to slip them around to his arse as the wrinkles in his trousers disappeared. Looking up at his still startled face, she gave him a saucy wink. Hermione wasn't quite sure what had come over her, she had never been brazen, but there was something about his presence that just made her feel... different, better.

Glancing over his shoulder, she spied the full length mirror in the corner. She stepped around him and approached it so that she could fix her own clothes, gently sweeping away the wrinkles and traces of previous activities. She made short work of her hair, running both hands through it to try and tame the wild curls. She managed to stop them from getting poofy but she couldn't quite put them back to their regular state of large, shiny ringlets that cascaded down her back. She needed time with some product and a hot iron to achieve that, not even magic could fix everything. Wryly, she thought for the millionth time that maybe she should try the potions instead of Muggle hair products.

She nodded at her reflection; it would have to do. She hadn't exactly been dressed up when she had rushed over to Draco's, in fact, he was looking significantly dressier than she was but there wasn't much she could do about that. She had what she had and to be fair, she was pretty sure Draco wasn't thinking about her clothes. By the look on his dumbstruck face, which she could see in the mirror since he had followed her over, she was pretty sure he was still trying to wrap his mind around her wandless magic. She turned to him and smiled.

"Ready?" she asked, as if nothing were amiss.

"How do you _do_ that?" he asked, sounding more than a little awestruck. She added "impressed" to the list of mental things she had never seen Draco say or do in relation to her before.

"Harry helped me learn how to control it, he's had to become very good at it since he use to lose control over his magic on a regular basis," she said as if this were an everyday feat. She grinned a little at his stunned expression. "Did you know that Harry blew up his aunt when we were 13?"

Draco shook his head and Hermione nodded. "Yeah, apparently she was a right bitch and he just lost it. She swelled up like Hagrid's charmed pumpkins."

Draco shook his head again, slower this time. "And Potter taught you to do this? Wait, wait," he held up a hand as if trying to stop the thoughts in his head. "Potter taught _you_ something? Isn't it usually the other way around."

Hermione grinned. "Usually, yeah."

Draco just sighed and shook his head. With a wry grin, he held out his hand to her. "Come on, let's go before any other fundamental laws of the universe are challenged before my very eyes."

"Harry teaching me something challenges the laws of the universe?" she queried.

"It's right up there with the earth no longer turning on its axis."

Hermione chuckled as they walked out of the room, enjoying the feel of his hand in hers, which was a surreal thought when she really focused on it. She was trying very hard not to do that, because it made her head hurt, and instead she gave her attention over to the obscene splendour of Malfoy Manor. As they walked, they passed pictures of previous Malfoy's on the wall; she could hear them chattering to each other as they flitted from picture to picture, studying her as much as she did them. They descended a staircase and were halfway through another gaudy hallway when Hermione recognized the papering on the wall and the suit of armour in the corner. She stopped dead.

Draco continued to walk at first until he felt Hermione's hand slip out of his. He turned around with a puzzled look on his face but it turned to shock and then fear as he took in the expression she wore. She could only imagine what she looked like as her eyes darted around her, taking in the slight changes from the last time she had been in this same corridor. It didn't matter that it had only been a few minutes that she had seen this part of the Manor, it was branded into her mind the same way everything that had happened in the sitting room was. Her frantic gaze landed on the closed doors to her left, doors that she knew led to a room with light violet wallpapering and a large chandelier in the center of the room. There would be a huge fireplace and perhaps the same rug that she had bled on. _Maybe not the rug_ , she thought to herself, _they probably got rid of that as soon as they threw us in the dungeons_.

"Hermione," Draco said in a low but urgent voice. "Nothing here is going to hurt you."

"I...I...Draco, I can't," she whispered, not taking her eyes off of the doors to _that_ room, not even when Draco stepped up to her so that he could touch her arms gently. He was tentative with his touch, almost as if he worried that the feel of his skin would upset her more. It didn't, in fact, she leaned in to him.

"I can't," she whispered as she pressed her face into his chest and his arms came around her at the same time that she grabbed on to him like a lifeline. "I'm sorry, I can't, I can't...I need...I have to go. I can't stay here, _please_."

Her voice broke on the last word and Draco's arms tightened around her as he called out for Kali, the House Elf. She appeared with a _pop!_

"Young Master is calling, Kali?" she squeaked.

"Yes, please tell my mother that I'm taking Hermione home, she's not well. I'll come back and speak to her later," he said. The Elf nodded, or at least Hermione assumed she did because the next thing Hermione knew there were two loud _cracks_ and she found herself standing outside the Malfoy Manor, the gates to her right. Draco swayed slightly, leaning his weight against her for a second before he righted himself. She felt a pang of guilt—he shouldn't be Apparating yet.

"I can't Apparate us to your home, I don't know where it is. I brought you out here in the hopes that you would be able to concentrate enough to bring us to your place," Draco said softly, his arms still wrapped around her.

Hermione nodded once and released her death grip on Draco's waist with one hand so that she could reach into the special pocket inside her cardigan that held her wand. With it gripped in her hand, she re-wrapped both arms around the man in front of her, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the sanctuary that was her home.


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Draco felt the uncomfortable squeeze of Apparition before his feet met solid ground and he opened his eyes to see that they were standing, their arms still wrapped around one another, in a cozy looking sitting room, right next to a fireplace and a squashy armchair that had clearly seen a lot of use. There was a couch throw balled up in the seat right next to a permanent dent from a persistent bottom sitting there. On the table next to the chair was a cup of tea, only half drunk, sitting atop a copy of yesterday's _Daily Prophet_.

The walls around him were painted a light brown colour but he could barely see the walls because of the many, _many_ bookshelves that surrounded the room. He was pretty sure the books stacked on top were kept there by charms because they seemed to defy gravity. He smiled softly; he should have known Granger would have a room like this. He wouldn't be surprised if there were more rooms exactly this crowded and hectic, actually.

"Well you certainly didn't waste time, did you?" Hermione said suddenly, releasing Draco and stepping back. "It's still the morning! What did you do, wait for midnight before you started your raid?"

Confused, Draco turned and looked down to see Hermione talking to the ugly cat that he remembered seeing around Hogwarts here and there. Her cat was watching him with a slightly hostile yet uncannily intelligent look on its squashed face—though the effect was slightly undermined by the fact that the cat's face was smeared with small chunks of tuna.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione sighed and scooped the messy cat into her arms. "How did you get into a _can_ you insane animal?"

She waved a hand over his face, Vanishing the tuna chunks and drying the cat's fur. The smell of tuna still lingered but the cat didn't seem to mind. He let out a loud purr and pushed his ugly squashed face against Hermione's. She smiled and buried her nose in his neck, inhaling deeply. "Are you going to say hello to Draco, Crooks?"

The cat, whose eyes had been closed as soon as Hermione pressed her face to him, looked at Draco as if contemplating it. Draco, not sure why he was bothering to make a good impression with a _cat_ , stuck out his palm for Crookshanks to sniff. The feline lowered his face to Draco's palm and took a good whiff before he turned back to Hermione. Draco thought he had been dismissed until he saw that the cat was now sniffing his owner intently. He started at her shoulder, then moved to her hair and finally up the side of her face to her mouth. He frowned at her for a second before turning away and sneezing several times. Hermione burst into laughter.

"I think Crookshanks is allergic to you, Draco!" she said as the cat eyed Draco warily.

"I don't know if that's a good thing," Draco said, reaching out to touch the cat tentatively. Thankfully, there was no more sneezing as he gently rubbed the Crookshanks' head. It truly was an ugly thing but there was no way he was going to tell it that, he had learned his lesson the last time he called a magical beast an 'ugly brute'. Crookshanks closed his eyes and allowed Draco to continue rubbing for a few minutes as Hermione watched with a small smile on her face. Finally, she put the cat down—there were several cat-like grumbles—and brushed the fur off of her body.

"Thank you for bringing me home," she said, her voice almost shy.

"I'd do anything for you," Draco said quietly. "You do know that, right?"

She sighed. "I do, but I really wish you wouldn't."

Draco frowned. "Why not?"

"Draco," she ran a hand through her hair, making the curls even wilder, as her voice hitched an octave. "This is practically enslavement! I know that without the Veela influence you wouldn't be here."

"You don't know that," Draco said. "You don't know how I would feel."

"No, you're right," Hermione conceded. "I don't know how you would necessarily feel but I do know how you would act. The same way you've always acted, Draco. I'm not trying to be mean here but... this isn't you."

"What isn't me?" he demanded, starting to feel defensive.

"This!" she gestured to him and then to herself. "I knew you before the Veela blood kicked in, Draco. I know you remember who you used to be before and that person would not have...have kissed me."

"You mean this?" Draco demanded angrily, thrusting his left forearm out. Hermione flinched back, and Draco wasn't sure if it was because she was afraid of the Mark or because she thought he would hit her. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, dropping his left arm. "Hermione, a lot of things about me have changed but it wasn't just because of the Veela blood."

"You don't know that," she turned away from him. "If it weren't for the Veela instinct you'd be off with a Pureblooded witch of good family, not following me around as I have panic attacks in your hallway."

"I—"Draco started but he didn't know how to finish that. He couldn't deny that what she said was true. He would be off with some Pureblooded witch that his mother was trying to set him up with in hopes that she would be his mate. But would he be happy? No, he already knew that. His mother had been throwing him at witch after witch for years, it was only after his body started to change that he realized why she was so insistent on him shaking every hand, kissing every cheek. It was human touch that verified for his physical instincts what his soul already knew. When he had touched Hermione in the hospital he had known that she was the one for him. He knew it with every fibre of his being...but he had to convince _her_ of that and he had no idea how. Stalling for time, he tried changing the topic.

"What's a panic attack?" he asked.

Hermione sighed and sat down on the chair with the throw. "It's a fit of anxiety. Muggle's call it a panic attack because you start irrationally panicking. Sometimes it's a result of something that's happened in your life previously and when you're in a situation that's similar your body goes into a panic. You have flashbacks, you can't breathe, you can't move, you can't even think straight because you're terrified."

"Is this how you feel in my home?" he asked as he crouched down so that they were almost at eye level.

She nodded softly. "When I don't have the fear of your imminent death on my mind, yes."

"Imminent death?" he echoed.

"Draco, you have no idea how close your body was to shutting down completely," she sighed despondently. "When I got there, your pulse was weak and thready, you were barely breathing. I was terrified that I had killed you."

"I can think of a better way for you to take me out," he smirked.

Hermione looked up but she didn't smile. "Draco, why can't you see that we can't do this?"

"Why not?" he asked. He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. She turned her face into his touch and closed her eyes. "I want you, you want me. What's the problem?"

"It's not real" she whispered. "It's a product of Veela magic."

"No—"

"Draco, if I wasn't your mate you would _not_ be here, you would _not_ be touching me and we both know it. I've lost the plot somewhere Draco, I lose it every time you touch me," she emphasized her point by pulling away from him. "But I can't make a life out of something that I know is based in magic, that's asking for a disaster."

"Why?" Draco demanded, standing up. He started to pace. "Why not? It's not like it's going to go away, it's part of _who I am_! You say that it's not real, but it _is_. It _is_ _me_ ; the Veela is as much me as the Wizard is. Why can't you see that? This isn't like some charm or potion, it's deeper than that. And yes, there's magic involved but there's magic in everything you and I do with our lives, together or apart. Hermione, you're a witch for crying out loud! Why is this such a big deal for you?"

"Did you ever hear the story of how Tom Riddle was born?" she asked quietly.

"What?" he said, spinning around to look at her like she was deranged.

"His mother was a witch of Salazar Slytherin's line, the last female descendant. She fell in love with a Muggle boy who lived in the town near her home. Her family would have never let her be with him but even if they would have, he didn't care for her. She wasn't pretty, she wasn't even a very good witch though many people think that had she been allowed to escape the oppression of her crazy father and even crazier brother she would have done just fine. She was a timid girl, shy but smart. She wanted the Riddle son and she decided that she would have him. She brewed a love potion and fed it to him. They ran off together."

Draco stared at her. He had never heard this story before, he hadn't even known that the Dark Lord has been a half blood until the war was over, not that it mattered at that point.

"They lived together for a year but she couldn't continue to deceive the man that she loved, and so she stopped giving him the potion. When he realized where he was and who he was with, he was angry. She explained to him what she was, what she had done, and that she hoped he would stay with her and learn to love her for the person she was. He didn't. He left her and their unborn child and he never looked back. Somehow, she found her way to an orphanage in London where she died during birth. The only thing she left her son was a name, Tom Marvolo Riddle. He became the greatest Dark wizard our world has ever known."

She looked up at him and suddenly, everything clicked into place. He realized what she was trying to tell him.

"You think that you're forcing me, somehow, to love you?" he asked, dumbfounded. "You think that we're...we're going to create the next Dark Lord?"

"Not exactly," she whispered, looking down. "Do I think you're being forced? Absolutely. Do I think that some sort of negativity might come out of it? Possibly. I don't know. All I know is that when people try to use magic with love, it turns into a disaster."

Draco stared at her for a long time. Her hair shone with the light that flowed through the window but the slight shaking of her shoulders and the way her words hurt retracted from the loveliness of the image. He wanted to pull her to him, to kiss her, hard and show her how much he needed her. But that would only reinforce her belief that he was being tricked, that he couldn't control himself.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, what you're saying," he said finally, his voice quiet, angry, and pained. "This is what's wrong with Muggle-borns, they have no idea how to live in the Wizarding world."

Hermione shot up out of her seat, her eyes wet but furious. "Excuse me?" she hissed. "I helped _save_ the Wizarding World!"

"And yet you spit on what it gives you!" Draco yelled suddenly. "Yes, there's magic in this...this bond between us, but it's good magic! It's magic that has delivered my fucking _soul mate_ to me, to _you_! That's what you don't get! What I was raised to understand! The magic doesn't _choose_ the person for you, it only _shows_ you the way to them."

Draco strode past her, taking a handful of Floo powder and throwing it into the fireless grate. Instantly, green flames erupted from nothing. He didn't turn to address her as he stared at them. They would only last for so long before he would have to use more powder.

"Whether I have Veela blood or not, you will always be my soul mate, only I never would have known it," he said before he stepped into the green flame, shouted "Malfoy Manor!" and disappeared with a whoosh.

 

**XXX**

Hermione slowly sat back down, watching as the green flame died and disappeared into nothingness. She felt empty, hollow. She wanted to cry; she could feel the tears there, the pressure behind her eyes, but they wouldn't fall. She knew that Draco wouldn't stay away for long, but the thought didn't fill her with happiness, only more cold emptiness. He would be compelled to come to her if he didn't want to slip into a coma and potentially die. She didn't understand how he could dismiss that giant flaw in this twisted relationship of theirs. How could he be okay with a love demanded by magic? How?

Sighing, Hermione stood up, scooped a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. She knelt in front of it, stuck her head in and called out "Grimmauld Place!"

She had to close her eyes as the Floo connected, the dancing green flames and the fire grates of other wizarding homes rushing by never failed to make her feel sick to her stomach. When she felt the roaring calm down around her, she opened her eyes to see the legs of kitchen table at Harry's home.

"Harry? Gin?" she called out.

A pair of feet appeared, shortly followed by Ginny Potter. She beamed at Hermione until she registered the look on her friend's face. "'Mione, what's wrong?"

"Is Harry around?" she asked, hearing the dejected sound of her own voice only made her feel more pathetic. "I really need to talk to him."

It was a credit to Ginny's understanding of her husband's connection to his best mates, Ron and Hermione, that the request didn't bother her at all. She didn't think twice about the fact that Hermione would rather talk to Harry than to Ginny about her problems. She just nodded and told Hermione that she'd go get him. She returned in a minute or two with Harry hot on her heels. He crouched down, took one look at Hermione and said,

"Stand back, I'm coming through."

Hermione nodded and pulled out of the fire. She stood on shaky legs and waited the few seconds it took for Harry to step through his fireplace and into hers. As soon as he was on the rug she threw herself into his arms and, finally, the tears came.

"Shhh...'Mione, tell me, talk to me sweetheart," he said, holding her tightly to his chest and rocking her back and forth as if she were a child.

"I...I...Draco..." Hermione sobbed.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, astonished. He pulled back to look at her face, confused, but whatever he saw there made his green eyes light up with concern. "C'mon, love, let's get you a cup of tea."

Harry guided her into her own kitchen, sat her down at the table, and pointed his wand at her Muggle stove top kettle. It started singing shrilly almost instantly. Harry took down two cups, measured some of Hermione's favourite loose leaf tea into the cup's strainers and then poured. He turned back to her as the tea began to steep.

"Now, tell me everything."

And she did. She began with the night she was doing rotation on the burn ward and how she had gotten a page to return to her own ward. She told him how she had run in to restrain Malfoy, whom she hadn't known was Malfoy at the time, and watched as he stopped in mid-transformation and calmed down; how he had almost attacked Pansy trying to defend her, how she had lashed out at him and stormed off in a huff. She nodded gratefully as Harry placed a cup of tea in front of her, well doctored with fresh honey, and told him of the frantic and tearful firecall from Mrs. Malfoy begging her to help Draco. To _his_ credit, Harry merely raised two black eyebrows at hearing that his best mate had been practically naked in bed with his former enemy. She told him of the kiss—minus the details—of the next morning and her following panic attack on realizing exactly how close she was to the room where she had once thought she would die. When she finally reiterated their argument by the fire, she was tired and had a headache. Gently, she put her head down on the kitchen table and closed her eyes. The silence in the room was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

"Wow, Hermione..." Harry trailed off and she heard him put his mug down on the table. "Why didn't you tell us any of this?"

"Oh right, that would have gone over well," Hermione said, her voice muffled as she put on a falsely cheery tone. "Hey Harry, Ron, guess what? You remember Draco Malfoy? Yeah, the one who used to torment us in school? The Ex-Death Eater? Yeah, that one. Well, he's my soul mate! Isn't that just bloody brilliant?"

She heard Harry chuckle softly. "Point taken."

She sighed and turned her face so that she could see him. "I just figured that I wouldn't say anything until I was sure...until I had a solution."

"I'm not sure you can think, or research your way out of this one, 'Mione," Harry said, gently.

She groaned and turned her face back to the wood as if blocking out the sight of her best friend would block out the truth of his words.

"So...he said that you are his soul mate, with or without the Veela magic," Harry clarified.

"Uh huh," Hermione confirmed quietly. "I don't know whether that's true or not, I never done much study into the mating of Veela, I just study their biology."

"Hmm, well all those books must have _something_ on it," Harry said, getting up from the kitchen table and striding out of the room. He came back a few minutes later with several of Hermione's books on Veela and their anatomy. She watched, slightly puzzled, as Harry cracked the first book open, flipped to the back where the index was and began thumbing through the pages. She was mildly shocked; she had never actually _seen_ Harry do real _research_. He had always begged that task off on Hermione, who enjoyed it. She smiled at the sight; the things her friend was willing to do for her.

"You're taking this surprisingly well," Hermione noted quietly, watching her friend frown as he flipped through her books. He looked up at her, his glasses sliding down his nose and gave her a quick smile.

"I like to think that I understand Malfoy a little better than most. I don't hate him, contrary to popular opinion. I never really did, I just hated what he stood for, and what he did."

Hermione didn't miss the past tense that Harry used and sat up to look at her friend properly. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged slightly. "We were both pawns in a game larger than we could understand until we were up to our necks in it. We were just on different sides of that game. We're not kids anymore, though, 'Mione, and sometimes it's just easier to let go."

Hermione nodded and watched as Harry returned to his searching. She smiled as he shook his head and reached for another book, then another, and then another. Sipping her tea, she thought about Harry's words. He was right, of course. They had all changed immeasurably, including Draco, but that wasn't her issue. She didn't know what part of him was really _him_ and what was the Veela magic compelling him to simply do what he knew would make his mate happy. Hermione looked up as Harry hmmm'd over a passage. She didn't feel compelled to join in; she didn't want to think about Veela anymore. She didn't want to remember the pained look on Draco's face as he paced in front of her or his parting words that left her troubled and confused. She wanted, for the first time in her life, to just pretend that reality didn't exist in the hopes that it would go away. She had never hidden from the war or the horrors that came with it because even though she was always afraid, she knew that she was never alone in that task. Now she felt adrift in a sea, with nothing to keep her grounded.

"Aha!" Harry said suddenly. He leaned back in his chair, bringing the book with him and read aloud.

_Veela magic is, on many levels, animalistic in its nature. It drives the Veela or part-Veela to seek out its mate and create the bond that will ensure offspring. However, there is an element to their magic that Wizards have not yet been able to understand or replicate. The magic does not cause the Veela to seek out the best mate possible, as is the case with animals in the wild and even human beings on a subconscious level, rather it drives the individual creature to seek out the mate that is meant for them in body, soul and mind. Where animals in the wild will seek out the strongest, the largest or the fastest partner, the Veela seeks out the mate that carries the other half of their soul. Wizards have debated whether or not the two actually share the same soul or if it is merely two souls that were pre-destined for one another, however, the debate is rather pointless. The Veela will only want to couple with their mate and if that mate dies prematurely, they will never take another. Most Veela choose to die as well rather than live a half life without their soul mate. In the case of part-Veela the results vary as there is the question of upbringing. Many Wizarding families do not believe suicide to be an acceptable method of compensation for loss which may cause the part-Veela to suffer the rest of their natural lives without their mate. In that case the part-Veela will often retreat from their society and..._

Harry trailed off and looked up at Hermione who was staring at him with her mouth open.

"According to this," Harry said softly, "Malfoy didn't lie to you."

Hermione stared at Harry as the words sunk in and hot tears spilled down her cheeks and onto her hands. She buried her face in her arms as loud sobs began to rip their way out of her. Harry rushed over, his hand gentle on her back, rubbing the same soothing pattern that she had once done for Draco. She cried harder.

"'Mione, it's all right," he said softly.

"No, it's not," she choked. "I insulted him, horribly. I said that everything he felt was fake! No wonder he was so angry! No wonder he said I was a stupid Muggle-born."

"He said that!" Harry said, sounding shocked and more than a little angry.

"Not exactly," she said, lifting her head and sniffing loudly. "But he was right. I don't understand this part of the magical world because I wasn't born into it. He was, he accepted it instantly, while I fought it."

"I wasn't born to this world either," Harry said, then winced. "Well, I was, but I wasn't raised in it either. I wouldn't have accepted what he said immediately, either. Hermione, you just need to go talk to him."

"I can't!" she cried. "It's late now! I can't just barge into his home and demand to see him! How do I even know he'll want to see me?"

"'Mione," Harry said softly. "He's your soul mate."

A fresh round of tears poured forth from Hermione and Harry pulled her into his arms, crouching awkwardly at her side with her head pillowed on his shoulder. He held her close and rocked her once again, rubbing her back and whispering soothing sounds in her ears. Slowly, she calmed and the tears dried up until only the occasional sniffle escaped her. She knew she probably looked horrible, her eyes would be puffy and red, but Harry didn't say anything when she looked up at him; he simply pressed a kiss to her hair and gave her shoulders a one armed squeeze.

"Thank you Harry," she whispered. "I love you, you know that right?"

He chuckled. "I know you do, I love you too 'Mione. Always have, always will."

There was the rustle of movement, and a soft whimper, that caused both Harry and Hermione to look up at the doorway.

Standing there, looking hurt and livid, his eyes darting between the two of them, was Draco Malfoy.


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Draco paced around his room once again, feeling like a caged animal.

If he sat down and thought about it from her point of view he could sort of understand why she felt the way she did but he couldn't stop himself from believing that if she would only _think_ about what he was trying to tell her she would see it the way he did. Still, as he paced and went over their argument, he kept coming back to the fact that he had blamed her Muggle heritage on her inability to accept their connection. It was a low blow and he knew that; he felt shittier and shittier for it with every passing moment.

But he couldn't say that he didn't quite believe it. Hermione was, hands down, the smartest woman he had ever met. He was positive that there wasn't a spell or potion she couldn't master. There was a time when he had been filled with rage and jealousy that a Muggle-born had been better than him at practically everything but now he was only filled with pride. Still, he knew that Muggle-borns tended to be either completely misinformed about aspects of the wizarding world or ignorant of them entirely. It was dangerous for them, it was degenerating wizarding culture and it was downright insulting in many instances. In this case, it was just painful. Hermione had not spent her formative years being tucked into bed and read Veela love stories about how soul mates were united despite all the odds stacked against them. Of course, his mother had had a soft spot for those stories considering that she would have known her only son carried the Veela gene. Still, wizarding children knew about these things, just like they knew the lore of their culture. They grew up with parents who taught them everything they needed to know to survive in the magical world. Muggle-borns didn't have that, and they needed it, but so many were too preoccupied with learning how to make objects fly around the room to take the time to understand the world they were becoming part of. Draco no longer scorned the idea of Muggle-borns being part of the magical community but he loathed the idea of losing the culture he had been raised with.

Still, he'd had no right to speak to her like that. He had made up his mind. He pulled his wand out of his robes and concentrated on Hermione's house. With a light _pop!_ he Apparated into her home. He was surprised that her wards had let him in a second time without her but perhaps they had recognized him as a non-threat, or Hermione had changed the wards after he had left? Either way, he found himself standing in her sitting room once again. He turned and looked around, she wasn't there. He decided to look around and headed to the only other room he had seen in her home, the kitchen.

When he got there, he was astounded by the sight that met his eyes. Hermione was curled into the embrace of none other than Harry Potter. He had his arms around her, his cheek pillowed on her head, as he rubbed her back and shushed her. They were rocking back and forth slightly as Hermione sniffed here and there. Watching them created a tightness in his chest that he couldn't explain. He wanted to rationalize what he was seeing, that Hermione was receiving comfort from her best friend—after all, he had said some hurtful things—but he couldn't block out the screaming in the back of his mind.

"Thank you Harry," Hermione whispered suddenly, her voice breaking the silence of the kitchen. "I love you, you know that right?"

Potter chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "I know you do, I love you too 'Mione. Always have, always will."

Something in Draco broke as he felt a stab of pain rush through his body. He wasn't sure if it was physical or mental but it nearly brought him to his knees and he let out a soft whimper as he reached out to hold on to the doorframe. The movement caused both Hermione and Potter to look up at him. Hermione's face was red and splotchy, she had been crying, but her eyes were bright with hope as they lit on him. He was about to open his mouth and demand to know what the hell was going on when the pain intensified and he cried out, dropping to his knees.

"Draco!" Hermione yelled, throwing herself out of Potter's arms and rushing over to him.

Draco's eyes shut involuntarily and he felt more than saw Hermione kneel in front of him. He opened his mouth to ask her, to say anything to her, but all that came out was a scream as white hot agony raced down his back. There was the sound of tearing fabric and the pain peaked to a point where he thought he might pass out. His eyes flew open as he reached out and grabbed on to Hermione. There was another terrifying moment of earth shattering pain pulsing through his back before it receded to a dull throbbing ache and he fell forward into her arms.

"Ohmigod, ohmigod!" Hermione babbled, sounding slightly hysterical. His mind, fuzzy with pain, belatedly registered the fact that she never babbled. "Draco! _Jesus fucking Christ!_ "

"Merlin's fucking beard!" he heard Potter exclaim. He wanted to commend Potter on the better choice of profanity but he seemed to be incapable of speech at the moment.

"Oh god," Hermione repeated. "Okay, alright, I can handle this. Okay." The fact that she sounded like she was trying to convince herself was not lost on him but Draco was more concerned about maintaining consciousness as aftershocks of pain raced down his spine. "Harry, go to my pantry, get the ointment that says 'Peppermint, Comfry and Bruisewart' and meet me in my room."

"Your room?" Harry repeated.

"Yes!" Hermione snapped. "My spare bedroom is too small, his wings will get jostled.

"Wings?" Draco managed, his voice sounded slightly gravelly and he realized that he had screamed louder than he had thought.

"Yes," she said. "Shhh, don't move, I'm going to levitate you to my room."

Draco nodded numbly as he felt Hermione reach into her sleeve and bring out her wand. She tapped him gently on the shoulder and he felt a curious weightlessness wash over his body. He had never been levitated before; he had only done it to heavy objects like his school trunk. Slowly, she guided him out of the kitchen and down a hallway that was littered with pictures that he couldn't make out. When they reached the doorway to her bedroom she had to stop and fold his wings in. The movement hurt and he hissed in pain but she was deft and quick. Before he knew it, he was laying face first on her bed, his head buried in a pillow that smelled like her. He inhaled sharply and let the scent overwhelm him. Turning his head, he watched as she knelt beside him on the floor.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching out to grab her hand.

She smiled softly and shook her head. "For what?"

"I shouldn't have said that to you," he said. "I was wrong. You're the smartest woman I know."

She shook her head again. "Forget about that, we'll talk about it later. Right now I need to get you out of pain."

"That would be nice," Draco said dryly. The pain was much less intense now but the dull throb was distracting and uncomfortable.

He heard Potter come dashing back into the room. "I found it!"

She took it from him and began unscrewing the jar, still kneeling by the bed, as Potter reached out and patted her shoulder. Draco practically saw red.

"Don't touch her!" he snarled.

Potter whipped his hand back but glared at Draco. "She's my best mate! I can touch her whenever I want!"

"She's _my_ mate!" Draco growled, lifting himself from the bed. His back screamed in protest but he ignored it.

"Lie _DOWN_!" Hermione yelled at him, putting her hand on the back of his head and forcing him back onto the mattress. He glared at her but was grateful that she hadn't shoved him by his shoulder.

"Draco, I'm Harry's best friend, he's going to touch me now and then," Hermione said as she leaned over him and used her wand to rip open the rest of his shirt and robes.

"He wasn't just touching you in that kitchen!" Draco said hotly, his body flushed at the memory.

"Is that what this is about?" Potter demanded, glaring at Draco from his position behind Hermione. "She was upset you giant prat! Because of _you_! I was only comforting her!"

"By trying to get into her pants?" Draco countered angrily, glaring right back at Potter through the gap between Hermione's arm and her body.

"I'm happily married!" Potter cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "I don't want to shag my best friend, thank you."

"Draco," Hermione said, waving her wand over his body, "there was nothing going on in the kitchen than what you saw. Harry was comforting me."

"You love him," Draco whispered softly, so that only Hermione would hear him.

Leaning down so that her lips brushed his ear, she murmured, "I do love him, as a friend. He's like my brother and we've been through hell and back but I have never thought of Harry in that way."

Her words made sense to him. Draco knew that Hermione and Potter had always been close. Hell, he even knew that Potter was married to the Weaselette but that didn't stop the Veela in him from raging at what he saw as another man trying to steal his mate. It was difficult to overcome that instinct but Draco continued to remind himself that if Hermione said there was nothing going on, then there was nothing going on. He focused on the scent of her on the pillow as Hermione leaned back and waved her wand over him once more. She sighed.

"What is it?" he and Potter asked in sync. Hermione grinned at the scowl that graced Draco's features. He didn't like it when he and Potter thought alike. It meant he thought like Potter, which was just insulting.

"Draco is displaying," Hermione said, a slight teasing note to her voice.

"What?" Potter asked. "Like a peacock?"

"Potter, if you ever refer to me as a peacock again I will never rest until I have killed you, brought you back as an Inferius and then killed you again," Draco said curtly. Hermione grinned again.

"I'd like to see you _try_!" Potter challenged but Hermione put up a hand to stop any more of the tirade that was surely building.

"Don't call Draco a peacock," she told him sternly. Draco grinned as Potter flushed. "I'm assuming that his wings erupted because his Veela instinct sensed a threat. Is that right?" she asked him.

"Yes," he nodded slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, reaching out she ran her hand through his hair. "I didn't realize."

"It's not your fault," he said, "it would have happened eventually."

"Yes, but it should have been a gradual thing. Because they came out so suddenly there's been a lot of damage done to your back..." she trailed off and looked at his back again, her face full of remorse and guilt.

"It's not your fault," he reiterated, reached out and squeezing her hand. "Can you fix it?"

"I can heal the wounds," she said, "and the ointment should help with the soreness but you'll be tender for a few days."

"That's fine," Draco said softly, putting his head back down on her pillow. He closed his eyes as he felt her squeeze his hand once more before letting go. She started casting charms over his back and he felt the cool tingle of healing magic running over his skin and sinking deep into his tissues.

"Harry hand me the jar?" she said. Draco kept his eyes closed as she started to gently rub the ointment into his back at what he thought might be the base of his wings. It was weird having wings on his back now; the weight of them pressed him into the mattress and though he could feel them twitch when something hurt but they hadn't done more than that yet. He wasn't exactly sure how to work them and wondered if they functioned like an extra limb where if you thought about moving your arms, or in this case, flapping your—

"DRACO!"

Hermione ducked and laughed. "Don't _do_ that!" she scolded him, poking his ribs with a greasy finger.

"Sorry, I just wanted to know if they worked," he said, smiling slightly at the sound of her laughter.

"Uh huh," she said, casting a wandless charm to clean her hands. She began examining his wings for any damage by carefully running her fingers over them. Draco was surprised by how _sensitive_ they were; he twitched and squirmed as she gently straightened feathers and massaged muscles with her deft fingers. He let out a soft moan when her fingers began steadily working their way to the base of his wings, the sensations tingling through him.

Potter coughed. "Don't enjoy it _too_ much. I'm still in the room."

"Fuck off, Potter," Draco said calmly, he was enjoying the attention _way_ too much to care what Potter thought.

"Now gentlemen, if you can't play nice..." Hermione trailed off, a smile in her voice.

"You going to put me in the corner?" Potter asked, a smile in his voice too.

"You don't want to see what I'll do with you if you piss me off Harry James Potter," Hermione threatened as she continued to massage.

Potter chuckled and Draco heard his footsteps approaching the bed. He opened his eyes to see Potter lean down to place a kiss on Hermione's head and he resisted the urge to scowl at him or worse, get up and punch him. Potter grinned at him as if he knew the thoughts that were running through Draco's head, and then he leaned down towards Draco too.

"Don't you dare kiss me Potter, I _will_ kill you then, no matter what she says," he warned the other man.

Potter grinned and, ignoring the threat, leaned in until he hovered over the blonde man's ear. He paused for a second, letting Draco squirm before he whispered, very lightly,

"You hurt her, and _I_ will kill _you_."

With that, Potter stood up, grinned at Hermione once more before turning on the spot and disappearing with a _crack!_

"He loves you," Draco whispered to her after the echo of Potter's exeunt faded.

"He does," she agreed quietly. "Can you live with that?"

Slowly, Draco rolled to his side, careful of his shifting wings and tender back. He looked at her, his mate, kneeling on the bed next to his tattered shirt. Her eyes were still red rimmed and slightly swollen from her crying. She was still beautiful.

"As long as you're mine," he said solemnly, "the world can love you as much as they want."

Hermione smiled and pulled his tattered shirt out from under him, throwing it behind her on the floor before she stretched out beside him, pulling his arm so that it wound around her waist.

"How do you feel about having wings?" she asked, softly.

"Eh, I'll get used to it. I just hope they go back in soon," he said nonchalantly.

"Doesn't it bother you that you have Veela blood in your family?"

"No, why would it?"

"Well, doesn't that mean you're not a Pureblood? Won't that tarnish your family's reputation with other Pureblood families?"

"No," he snuggled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. "See, Purebloods only have a problem with mixing non-magical blood with that of the magical. They don't care if you have non-human bloodlines, as long as that non-human is a magical creature. In their twisted minds, you're still magically pure."

"That's...fucked up," Hermione said, making Draco laugh. He hadn't realized how much different he would feel once Potter was out of the room but the absence of even the slightest possible threat to his mate made him feel infinitely better, even with the aching back.

"Yes, yes it is," he said. "It's never been much of a secret that the Malfoy family carries the Veela gene but no one had thought that they might want to tell _me_ until it was happening to me."

"How did you notice the change?"

"I started becoming aggressive," she raised an eyebrow at him and he amended. "Well, more so than usual. And restless. I felt the need to go look for something, but I didn't know what. I had the worst sweet tooth _ever_ and would practically drown my tea in sugar. That tipped me off because I remembered hearing stories about Veela having horrible cravings for sweets."

Hermione nodded. "Blood flavoured lollypops. I remember trying one when we were still in school."

Draco grinned evilly. "I bet you _loved_ that."

"It was disgusting," she wrinkled her nose and Draco chuckled.

"They're my favourite," he said.

"Figures," she rolled her eyes and smiled. "What else happened before you ended up on my ward?"

" _Your_ ward, Trainee?" he teased. She pinched his side lightly and he laughed. "Okay, okay. Well, I started to transform in small amounts. My nails would lengthen and turn hard or my fingers would turn into full out talons. That's when I knew that I was in trouble."

"Why didn't you talk to your mother?"

"Pride, mostly," he said calmly. "I was angry that she hadn't bothered to tell me of my own heritage so I decided to deal with it on my own, that I didn't need her help."

Hermione paused for a second, eyeing him warily. "You do realize that that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard?"

Draco shrugged casually, a small smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. "It almost worked."

"Uh huh," Hermione said, not bothering to hide her scepticism, "and then you ended up in St. Mungo's."

"Yep," Draco said cheerily, rolling over so that he pinned Hermione with his body. He leaned down and kissed her softly. "Where I found you."

"You didn't have to find me," she said, somewhat breathless. "I was always there."

"Of course I had to find you," he said. "You're the part that I was missing."


	10. Chapter 10

Draco leaned over Hermione and slanted his mouth across hers as she reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of his hair. She moaned into his mouth as his hands slipped under her shirt and ghosted over the soft flesh of her ribs. His body was a welcome weight on her and she quickly slid her legs out from under him in order to wrap them around his waist. She felt his feathered wings brush against her forearms as he shifted his body so that he could drag his mouth down her neck. Her mind was a jumbled mess of feeling and sensation; somewhere there was a voice urging her onwards.

"God, Draco."

"I need you," he responded, his voice husky.

"You have me," she whispered.

He lifted his head from her neck and met her gaze. His eyes, normally grey, were the same silver that she remembered from the hospital. "Do you truly mean that?"

"I do," she reached out and brushed her hand over his cheek. "I want this, I want you."

"Hermione," he rasped, emotion clogging his throat, "bonding is forever. Until the day we die, beyond even."

"I know," she smiled, "and I still want you."

His reaction was instantaneous: his pupils dilated and his wings stretched out above him as he kissed her fiercely, plunging his tongue into her mouth and fisting her shirt in his hands. Hermione heard the material rip but couldn't be arsed enough to care. Draco's naked chest was pressed against her skin and it felt glorious. Her need to feel more of him had her clawing at her bra and pulling it off of her body with a hard jerk and a few broken clasps. Draco thrust his hips against her, driving his erection against her and making her gasp at the sudden jolt of pleasure.

"More," she murmured against his mouth, reaching between them to pull at his trousers. He pushed himself off of her, kneeling between her legs, and watched with an obvious hunger as she quickly pulled open his zipper and yanked his trousers and pants down to mid thigh. She didn't hesitate to reach out and grab his cock, standing thick and proud from a nest of light blonde curls, and start stroking it gently. Draco groaned, his head falling back as his hips thrust forward into her hand. She looked up at him as she tightened her grip and watched his mouth open slightly in pleasure. Draco had always been gorgeous, from the moment he grew out of his boyhood angles, but now he was simply stunning. His wide spread wings added an element of surreal beauty to him, making him look like a Muggle angel— _Well_ , she thought, _a Muggle angel in the throes of passionate pleasure_. She would never tell him how incredible he looked, of course, his head would never fit through the doorway if she did, but that didn't stop her from staring at him.

"Hermione," he rasped, his hands reaching out to stop her movement, " _please_."

Ignoring him, she pulled his hands away and bent her head, his scent overwhelming her senses. Thanks to his position on his knees, she didn't have to manoeuvre much before she was able to wrap her lips around the head of his cock and suck gently. Draco's hand fisted in her hair, so tight it almost hurt, as he shouted incoherently. Slowly, she slipped her mouth lower and lower on him, taking in as much of him as she could. When she knew she could take no more she used her hands to touch the rest of him. Falling into a rhythm, she focused on bring him as much pleasure as possible, listening to the cues of his cries and moans, and enjoying the way his fingers loosened to caress her hair, neck and shoulders.

"Hermione," he tried again, his voice sounding strained, "you have to stop."

He didn't really sound like he wanted her to stop but he did pull away from her, just enough to push her shoulders back on to the bed before he reached down and pulled her jeans open. Hermione lifted her hips to help him as he pulled the offending material off. She kicked the jeans away as soon as they passed her knees. Draco ran his hands over her exposed skin, his fingers sweeping from side to side and sending pleasant shivers up her spine. As his fingers brushed the inside of her thighs she jumped and pulled away a little, he raised an eyebrow at her, making her blush.

"Ticklish," she confessed quietly. He grinned.

"I'll have to remember that later," he said, lowering his body over hers so that he could press a kiss to her thigh. The feel of his hot breath on her skin made her stomach knot up in anticipation. He reached up and slowly, agonizingly so, he dragged Hermione's knickers down over her thighs to her knees and finally off. She watched as he ran his hands up her thighs once more, parting them as he went. She tried not to feel self-conscious as her legs fell open, she didn't have much experience with this part of love making.

"Why are you blushing?" Draco murmured. "You're beautiful."

He leaned down and kissed her inner thigh as Hermione stammered, "I...I d—don—"

"You don't what?" he asked softly, looking up at her. His voice was almost as arousing as the sight of his head between her legs. "You don't want me to taste you?"

"N-no...I—I mean, yes...I—"

"Good," Draco said, flashing her a quick grin before ducking down and placing a soft kiss against her heated flesh. Hermione gasped and the tension left her body, letting her legs fall open wider. Draco murmured his approval as he wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her body closer to him. She felt his kisses turn into open mouthed licks and she moaned, her eyes closing involuntarily. So _this_ is what she had been missing wi—

The thought derailed as Draco sucked her clit into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and causing her back to arch.

"Get back here," he murmured, throwing his forearm over her waist and holding her down as he continued to kiss and tease her flesh. She bucked again, moaning loudly, but Draco's arm held her in place as he touched and tasted again and again until Hermione's entire body was shaking.

"Draco," she moaned, her voice a breathy tone that she would have laughed at in any other situation. "More!"

Draco replied by slipping his fingers into her body, wrenching another moan out of her as he pumped them in and out, curling his long fingers up and sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She could feel the tightening in her groin, the way her body throbbed with pleasure, telling her that she had to stop him before she reached that peak.

"Draco, I'm gonna...you have to...please," she wasn't even sure what she was trying to say anymore. Draco didn't stop and he didn't pull away, rather he added another finger and sucked hard on her clit, flicking it with his tongue. Instantly, Hermione's body tightened and convulsed. She let out harsh cry as she felt the pleasure sweep through her body in wave after wave, all of it starting at the throbbing point between her legs. She hadn't even noticed that Draco had moved until his mouth was on hers and she was tasting herself on his tongue. She felt his cock brush against her and she instinctively lifted her hips, seeking more friction even as the pleasure of her orgasm ebbed from her.

"I need you," he whispered again.

"Then take me," she told him.

He didn't hesitate or pause to line himself up with her body. He snapped his hips forward and slid into her still throbbing body with ease, causing them both to gasp at the new feeling. Hermione threw her head back into the pillow as she felt him stretch her. It had been a _long_ time but she welcomed the slight burn as Draco pulled back and thrust into her again, their hips meeting. Holding himself above her on straining arms, the room quickly dissolved into nothing more than the slap of skin, harsh breathing and the pleasure of being so intimately connected. There was a tingling under the surface of her skin, something that she hadn't noticed immediately, but that had been building with every second that their skin touched. The electric hum that his touch left on her body quickly chased away the thoughts that would later preoccupy her ever hungry brain.

Suddenly, Draco's arm was under her back and pulling her into his lap. He propped himself up with one arm behind him as Hermione balanced herself with her hands on his shoulders. The change of their position allowed Draco to slide deeper into her and he groaned as she began rocking in his lap. His hand swept up her back as his mouth latched on to her breast and his wings curled around them both. Hermione shuddered as the soft feathers brushed her skin and Draco's hand slid down to rest between her legs. They found a delicious rhythm as he snapped his hips up to meet Hermione's rocking and, to her surprise, she felt the tightness of an impending orgasm build in her body once again.

Her hands slipped from his shoulders to his hair, threading it through her fingers and scraping her nails lightly against his scalp. Draco's eyes fell closed and his head tipped back, his mouth falling open once again. Leaning forward, she captured his bottom lip between her teeth and bit him gently, causing a moan to slip out of him as she soothed the sting with her tongue. Her thighs burned from their rhythm as he increased their pace, but she wouldn't have stopped even if the house around them fell apart. She could hear her blood rushing through her body and that sweet coil of pleasure in her groin as she placed her lips against Draco's ear.

"I've fallen in love with you," she whispered, her voice husky and unfamiliar to her.

Draco exploded, his back arched even as his wings clamped around her tighter. Hermione felt the electric current, what some small part of her brain recognized as magic, that had been building between them surge with power and wrap itself around them. She knew then that she would always feel this way with him; pleasure, joy, disbelief, love. His entire body shuddered with physical pleasure as hers followed suit and both of his arms pulled her close, crushing her against his chest as they fell backwards, riding out wave after wave of magic and desire both. She fell atop him, his heart beating rapidly against her own chest, and tucked her head into the curve of his neck. He sighed, his hands running over her body as he gently pushed once more into her. They remained connected like that as their breathing returned to normal and the light sheen of sweat cooled on their bodies. Hermione wasn't cold though, Draco's wings kept out the chill of the cooler air.

All of a sudden, her head snapped up. "Your wings!"

"Hmm?" he sounded like he was ready to fall asleep.

"We're both lying on them!"

"They're fine, love, they don't hurt," he said, stroking her back.

Hermione felt a rush of warmth suffuse her body as he casually called her his love. Even though she knew that she _was_ , she was his soul mate after all, there was something different about the way the endearment rolled from his tongue with utter simplicity and sincerity.

"I can feel you," he whispered.

"Feel me?" she repeated.

"Your emotions," he clarified, turning his head so that he could look at her. "You're happy."

She smiled softly. "More than happy."

"Can you feel me too?" he asked.

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on Draco and the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips. Slowly, feelings and emotions that were akin to hers, but not really hers, filled her consciousness. She couldn't quite explain it but even though they shared many of the same emotions—joy, satisfaction, a sense of completeness—she could tell Draco's emotions from her own. She smiled and opened her eyes.

"Yes, I can feel you, too."

"You know that means we're bonded, right?" he asked, looking slightly wary. Hermione didn't have to feel the slight panic to know what he was thinking.

She leaned down and kissed him soundly on the lips before whispering,

"I wouldn't have it any other way."


	11. Epilogue

_8 years later..._

“And Phedre said that we would be able to do whatever we want! So, Daddy, I think I want to be the Minister for Magic! Or maybe the man on the telly that tells Mommy what to wear. Oh! Or like Uncle Neville, because I like planting things too and Mommy said that I can help her put in the tulips this year so...”

Draco grinned at his daughter, Paige, as she explained how her twin Phèdre had concocted a diabolical plan for them to rule the world. He shook his head as he sat there on the floor across from the little girl and was forced to admit that he was rather proud of her considering that she was only four years old.

“Is that so? The PP Twins are going to take over the magical world?” he asked her, still grinning. “And what will you do with it?”

“Daddy!” he heard Phèdre whine from behind him. “We’re not the pee pee twins!”

He turned and scooped his daughter up in his arms, depositing her in his lap. She laughed but instead of trying to get away, she snuggled closer to her father. Paige, who had been sitting in front of him, crawled over and clambered into his lap as well.

“That, my brilliant little master mind, is called a play on words,” he told them. “You’ll need to use that when you’re Minster for Magic.”

“I’m not going to be Minister for Magic,” Phèdre said, looking up at her father with her brown eyes. “I’m going to be an Auror, like Uncle Harry.”

“You want to be an Auror like your uncle?” he asked, shocked.

“Yep!” she nodded happily and he sighed. There was too much Gryffindor in his girls. He often blamed their mother but she always laughed at him whenever he brought up the predicament.

He kissed their heads and squeezed them tighter. Thankfully, they were both still so young that he wouldn’t have to give them up to the world any time soon. Looking down at them, all he could see were miniature versions of Hermione, with his colouring. He smiled; his daughters were a beautiful mix of the two of them. Being identical, they both had their mother’s long curling hair, though—and Hermione professed profound relief over this fact—their curls were not as wild as hers had been at their age. They were tempered by the silkiness of their locks, something he was adamant they inherited from him. They both had her nose, a cute little rounded button that he liked to kiss when they slept. They had his pale skin and white blonde hair, his high cheekbones and slightly pointy chin. Their eyes were a direct contrast with the rest of their features, being brown and warm, exactly like Hermione’s. He had once told his mother that he was thrilled when his daughters inherited Hermione’s eyes because hers never looked cold like his sometimes did, especially when he was angry.

“Shall we go find your uncle? I believe he’s here with your Aunt Ginny,” he asked the girls. They had been hiding in their room for a while and Draco had come to investigate why. He had ended up being coaxed into joining the tea party on the floor.

“Does that mean James is here?” Phèdre asked hopefully. Draco grinned, at least one of his daughters had a bit of Slytherin in her. Phèdre loved James... loved to torment him, that is. He had balked when Hermione had once suggested that perhaps Phèdre had a bit of a crush on the little black haired boy. It wasn’t that he had a problem with Potter’s children, though that Lily was a handful, but Draco was nowhere near ready to discuss the possibility of boys and romance when it came to his girls. As far as he was concerned, they would remain virgins for the rest of their natural lives. Even when they had children of their own. Virgins. He was adamant.

And he wondered why his wife often laughed at him.

“He is, but you know you have to be nice,” Draco said, even though he was secretly hoping she’d lock James in a cupboard again. Harry had not been pleased with that one. It wasn’t like it was a cupboard under the stairs after all... it was under the kitchen sink. And she had been two.

Phèdre sighed dramatically and Draco’s grin widened. Oh yes, she was like her father, alright. “If you say so Daddy.”

“I do,” he kissed them both again and uncurled his legs. His daughters got up and straightened their matching navy blue dresses as he stood, brushing his own clothes off. Their dresses had been a gift from their grandparents, Hermione’s parents, and since she knew they would be there today she had convinced the girls to wear them. Both of them had whined about it but Hermione had been firm; they needed to wear the dresses because if they didn’t she would never hear the end of it from her own mother. If there was one thing that Mrs. Granger had in common with Mrs. Malfoy, it was that they both loathed the fact that their granddaughters were rather tomboyish.

The girls preceded him out of their room and as soon as they heard the voice of Harry and his son Albus identical smiles spread over their faces. The girls loved Harry and Ginny, and their three children, but they had a particular soft spot for their cousin Albus Severus. He watched as Paige took off down the hall, her bare feet slapping against the carpet, Phèdre not far behind. He warned them not to run down the stairs and followed at a slower pace. He heard their feet slow as they reached the steps and smiled, the last time they had tried to thunder down them together Hermione had ended up healing Paige’s broken nose. Thank Merlin his wife was a Healer, otherwise they’d be making regular trips to St. Mungo’s.

“Hi, Mommy!” he heard the girls chorus. By the time he reached the top if the stairs, they were already long gone. The shrieks of childhood happiness that quickly reached his ears told him that they were now in the sitting room with their cousin. He looked around for Hermione as he descended to the first floor but he couldn’t see her. He peeked into the den as he walked by, looking for his wife, but it was the emotions that he could sense from her that alerted him to her whereabouts. Quietly, Draco walked towards the kitchen, where there were voices arguing in low tones.

“...can’t believe you take them to see his parents!” he heard a male voice, one that belonged to Ron Weasley.

“Ron, they’re their grandparents!” his wife replied, her tone exasperated.

“So? Do you think Harry takes his kids to see his Muggle relatives? He doesn’t, Hermione! And they weren’t even Death Eaters!”

“Ron, what Harry does with his children is his business, what Draco and I do with Phèdre and Paige is ours! I appreciate your concern but you need to back off!”

He heard Ron mumble something and was about to walk in when Hermione’s emotions tipped from irritation into downright anger and Draco heard her snap, “What did you say?”

“I said,” Ron’s voice rose with his own anger, “that they could have been mine!”

Hermione sighed and Draco clenched his hands into fists. He felt a sharp bite of pain and looked down. He had four identical, slightly bleeding, wounds on each palm because in his anger he had let his control slip. His finger nails had turned into the deadly sharp nails of a Veela, something that hadn’t happened to him in many years. He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. When he looked again his nails were their normal clipped length.

“No, Ron,” Hermione said, her voice calm despite her emotions. “They couldn’t have been yours.”

“Yes!” Ron said, angrily. “They could! But you chose him!”

“Ron, you and I broke up long before Draco and I found each other.”

“Found each other?” Ron laughed bitterly. “Do you realize what you sound like? You sound like one of those stupid Veela romance novels!”

“Ron,” Hermione’s voice was no longer gentle but tinged with a warning, “Draco is my soul mate, nothing you say or do can ever change that. Even if we had been together back then, the result would have been the same.”

“I can picture them with red hair, you know,” Ron said, ignoring her words, “instead of that Malfoy blonde.”

Draco’s rage flared up in him and he found himself striding forward. He would kill the Weasel, even if there was another Auror in the other room. He was just about to enter the kitchen when he heard something slam against the counter. He halted in the doorway to see his wife, one hand over her swollen belly, the other in a fist on the counter, glaring daggers at the redheaded man across from her. Neither of them seemed to notice his near entrance.

“They are Malfoys, Ronald!” she yelled, not bothering to hide her anger anymore. “I am a Malfoy! My children will never be Weasleys and if you cannot accept that then I suggest you walk out of this house right now and never return because I refuse to listen to you disparage my husband every time you step foot in his house.”

“No need to wait Weasel,” Draco drawled calmly, drawing their attention to his presence. “I suggest you get out of my house now, before something really, really bad happens to you.”

Draco knew that his eyes were probably a bright, molten silver and a casual brush of his thumb over his fingers told him that his nails had once again sharpened to lethal points. Ron Weasley had no idea how lucky he was, really. Eight years ago Draco would have already fully transformed and attacked the stupid git; it had taken him a long time to get to the point where he could restrain his Veela nature and it had gotten harder as time went on because, as Draco grew into his Veela blood and matured, he grew stronger, as did his instincts. He was now quite capable of picking his wife up with one hand.

Ron stupidly turned back to Hermione. “You see what you’ve married? A monster! You don’t have to live like this Hermione, you know I’d treat you like a queen.”

Draco laughed and strode into the kitchen, placing himself between his wife and the man who was trying to take her from him.

“You’d treat her like a queen? Weasel, don’t mistake our modest home as a sign that I’ve any less money than I did when we were boys, in fact, I have more. My wife wanted a simple home for our children to grow up in but understand this, if she wanted a palace, she’d have it,” Draco sneered at him.

“Money isn’t everything, Malfoy,” Ron spat.

“No, but it certainly helps,” Draco smirked. “Though you wouldn’t know anything about that would you Weasel? You’d think that someone who grew up poor wouldn’t squander the money that his decently paying job gives him. I still can’t fathom why they hired you as an Auror, mind you, it’s not like you’re particularly bright.”

Ron appealed to Hermione again, looking around Draco’s body at her. “You want to live the rest of your life like this?”

“I’m happy Ron,” Hermione said, coming to stand beside Draco and slipping her hand into his, “and if you truly cared about me the way you claim to, you’d accept that and stop this.”

Draco snorted. “If you really cared for her you wouldn’t be upsetting her right now, or has it slipped your attention that Hermione is pregnant?”

Ron’s eyes slid to Hermione’s extended stomach. She was six months along and showing beautifully; she was wearing a maternity t-shirt under her cardigan and the fabric wrapped around her body snugly, showing off her form. Draco had pitched a fit when she was pregnant with the girls and had tried to hide her stomach as much as she could under baggy shirts. He loved seeing his wife’s body any time, but especially when she was carrying his child. He wasn’t sure if it was the Veela or the wizard in him that thrilled at the sight of her rounded tummy, but either way, he had won that particular battle quite easily when he told her—or rather showed her— how much he enjoyed her new curves.

Ron closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what was going on, but when he opened them he looked at Hermione and simply said, “I’m sorry.”

Without another word, he turned and left the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, Draco felt the tension leave his body and was able to force his body to calm down, letting his nails shrink back to their normal state. He turned to his wife and asked,

“Why did you let him get you alone?”

She sighed and shrugged. “I hoped he wouldn’t go there again, not after last time.”

“You put too much faith in the Weasel,” Draco responded, pulling her as close as her swollen belly would let him and wrapped his arms around her. He bent down and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet orange scent of her Muggle shampoo. His hands wandered down her back and over her hips.

“I want you,” he whispered.

“You always say that,” he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Because it’s always true,” he said softly.

She reached up, winding her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He captured her lips gently as he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. He walked to the counter with her in his arms, placing her gently on it as he kissed his way from her mouth to her ear. He softly pulled the lobe of her ear between his teeth, feeling the tiny diamonds he had bought her for their first Christmas together. He had wanted to get her bigger ones but he knew that that wouldn’t have gone over very well. She still told him off for spending too much money on her.

He slipped his fingers under her shirt and felt for the waistband of her black tights, pulling them down slowly. She lifted her hips from the counter as he captured her knickers with the tights, sliding them off her legs so that they pooled by his feet. Quickly, he pulled his wand out of his pocket, directed it over his shoulder and cast a charm at the kitchen door, locking it firmly. Turning back to Hermione, he pulled her gently forward so that she was resting on the edge of the counter and began to kneel so that he could taste her when she stopped him.

“I want you,” she echoed his earlier words.

“But—”

She shook her head. “I’m ready, trust me.”

He raised a sceptical eyebrow but she just smiled at him. “I’m pregnant Draco, that means I’m full of raging hormones and I’ve been thinking about getting you naked for hours.”

He grinned, the knowledge that she’d been thinking about having her way with him all this time making his cock twitch in his trousers. He stood up and swiftly divested himself of his slacks and pants before he wrapped her legs around his waist again. They both groaned softly as he sheathed himself in her smoothly and ran his hands up over her stomach, caressing her under her shirt. Slowly, he began to move inside her. Hermione had told him a million times, both during her first pregnancy and now this one, that it was okay for him to be a little rough with her, that it wouldn’t hurt the baby but Draco simply refused to take the chance. It had taken her nearly a month to convince him that he could have sex with her and that was only after he had consulted seven other Healers.

So it was with a slow and gentle passion that he brought his wife to her release, listening to her gasp and sigh as the muscles of her body clamped around him, pulling his own climax from him with a soft grunt.  Her fingers found their way into his hair as their hearts raced and he smiled, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. His wife was nothing if not a creature of habit and she never failed to get her hands on his hair.

“I love you, Draco,” she said softly.

“I know,” he kissed her neck.

She flicked his shoulder. “You’re too cocky for your own good Draco Malfoy.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pulling back in time to see her smile turn into a soft ‘O’ of surprise. Her hand went to her stomach and she gasped.

“What is it?” Draco asked, his heart skipping a beat.

“He’s—oh, upset that you’re ignoring him,” she said, wincing slightly as their son kicked her again.

Draco’s heart continued to beat furiously even as he mentally scolded himself for panicking. He reached out and placed his hand over the spot that Hermione had been holding. Sure enough, he felt a small kick against his palm. He leaned down and kissed her stomach.

“I love you too, my son,” he whispered.

“You know, I could be wrong about the gender,” Hermione said, her hand still in his hair. He loved the feel of her fingers working through the fine strands.

“You?” Draco grinned. “The great Hermione Malfoy? Wrong?”

“Well, sometimes the spell reports incorrectly,” Hermione said, arching her eyebrow at him in a manner he knew she had learned from him.

“You weren’t wrong with the girls,” he said, kissing her on the lips, “and I doubt you’d be wrong now.”

“Well—”

“Mommy?” Paige was at the kitchen door. “Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie?” Hermione called out.

“Mommy, Grandmother and Grandfather are here and Grandfather is asking for Daddy.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up as Hermione’s eyes widened. They looked at each other in horror for a split second before Hermione called out, “Do you mean Nana and Gramps?” which was what the girls called Hermione’s parents.

“No,” Paige paused for a second and then added, “Grandmother says that what you are doing is un—” they heard another voice murmur something to Paige, “unsanitary.”

Hermione looked at Draco and clapped a hand over her mouth as she burst into giggles. He groaned and pressed his forehead against her chest.

“Tell Grandmother that Daddy has seen her do worse,” Draco called to his daughter as his wife was reduced to incoherent giggles. He had told her of the time when he was a little boy and walked in on his parents doing things he’d rather not remember. He shook his head with a small smile and helped Hermione off the counter as she continued to snicker. She bent down and picked up her tights, putting them and her knickers back on as Draco pulled up his own clothes. When they were both dressed, Hermione turned and cast a quick Scourgify at the counter top, still grinning. Together, they walked to the door, as Draco reversed his earlier charm. When they opened the door they found their daughter waiting for them, a patient look on her face.

“What does unsanitary mean?” she asked, innocently, stumbling over the unfamiliar word a little.

Draco grinned at Hermione before he bent at the waist and kissed her blonde head.

“Talk to your mother,” he said, darting out of the kitchen and away from his wife, “she’ll explain everything to you.”

He snickered as Hermione cast a glare at him. He knew he’d be in trouble later because Paige was inquisitive like her mother and would needle at you until you told her what she wanted to know. He dreaded the day she was capable of reading the books in her mother’s library.

Draco wandered into the sitting room of the house and found, much to his surprise, that both of his parents were sitting on the couch next to Ginny and Harry. His surprise must have shown on his face because his mother arched an eyebrow at him, daring him to comment. He wisely decided not to say anything; instead he greeted her with a kiss to the cheek and thanked them both for coming. Draco’s father had Phèdre dangling from one knee as she chatted away happily. Draco cast a look at Harry Potter, who was talking to his daughter Lily, the birthday girl, and felt the now familiar gratitude towards the prat. It was Harry’s influence that had allowed Lucius Malfoy’s remaining sentence to be turned in to a House Arrest like Narcissa’s once the girls were born. It had allowed them to get to know their grandchildren, for which Draco would be eternally thankful. Prison had changed his father in many ways, he was quieter and initially, prone to more anger than before. It had alarmed Draco, considering that his father had never been a particularly peaceful man, but the birth of Draco’s daughters seemed to have changed some of that. Lucius seemed to want to make up for his failures as a father in his role as a grandfather. To his credit, he didn’t even bat an eye to hear that Draco’s mate was a Muggle-born witch. Instead, the cold Lucius Malfoy had started to hum a little tune to the newborn baby girl he had held in his arms. Things weren’t perfect with his parents, and Hermione still would not stay for very long at the Manor, but they were getting there. The Malfoys and the Grangers had managed to find a compromising balance for whenever they had to be around each other and it was something that Draco was grateful for.

“Grandmother!” Draco turned to see Paige walk in with her mother. The little girl rushed over to Narcissa and pulled at the older woman’s hand. “Come see what Albus made me!”

He watched with amusement as his mother was escorted over to where Albus sat with his brother James amidst several toys and books. James was reading but Albus was playing with two ugly stuffed toys. One looked like it was supposed to be an elephant but he couldn’t identify the other for the life of him. Paige pulled her grandmother down to the floor, and Narcissa knelt on her expensive robes without complaint, to show her the deformed toy that Draco couldn’t identify. She presented it to her grandmother happily as Albus beamed at her.

“Albus cut out the material and decorated them,” Harry said. The Auror had walked over to where Draco was standing. “I think they’re supposed to be an elephant and a giraffe, but I’m not sure.”

Draco snorted. “Clearly, he inherited your artistic skill.”

“Shut up,” Harry grinned.

Draco watched as his daughter laughed at something her grandmother said. “Could have been worse though, hmm? He could have inherited your horrible hair.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Harry admitted, his hand automatically going to his fringe and patting it down.

Draco chuckled and turned, looking for Hermione. He spotted her sitting on the couch with Ginny, one hand on her belly, as she nodded along to whatever the redhead was saying. Lily was sitting at her feet, playing with a new doll that she had received for her birthday. His gaze shifted from his wife and her friend to his father, who was now speaking in soft tones to Phèdre as she examined his pocket watch. Draco assumed that he was explaining how it worked because it was a Wizard’s watch and they only had Muggle clocks in the house. She had an adorable frown of concentration on her face.

“Hey,” Harry said, leaning closer to Draco in order to keep their conversation private. There had been a day when Draco would have backed away from Potter, but those days were long gone. Instead, he turned his head towards the other man to indicate that he was listening. “Is everything alright? Ron left in a bit of a hurry.”

Just then, the doorbell rang and Hermione jumped up to answer it. Her parents walked in, enveloping her in hugs and exclaiming over the size of her stomach. She laughed at something her father said as he patted her round tummy affectionately. Draco smiled at his family.

He turned to Harry, still smiling. “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s great.”


	12. Outtake

"What do you think will make Phèdre feel better?" Draco asked his daughter, bending down slightly to her height.

"Mum says we can't have sweets when we're sick," Paige said, a delicate frown on her little face.

"Shhh." Draco theatrically held his finger to his lips and winked down at her. "What Mum doesn't know won't hurt her."

Paige giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth as her brown eyes darted toward her mother. Hermione, eight months pregnant with their third child, was happily browsing the aisles of the sweet shop. It was very much like Honeydukes, but located in Diagon Alley and thus much more accessible.

Usually, the family only visited here once a month or so during their weekly Saturday shop but since Hermione's pregnancy they had become far more frequent customers. With Phèdre sick and needing a specific potion from the Apothecary, they'd had to come to Diagon Alley anyway, and Hermione didn't want to miss an opportunity to feed her cravings for Rainbow Tarts.

"Go find something for you and your sister," Draco told his daughter, giving her a little nudge. She didn't need to be told twice and he watched as she took off for the chocolate aisle.

Straightening, he heard a bit of shuffling and looked up to find an unfamiliar old wizard behind the counter where there usually stood a smiling young woman. He was about to greet the man when the other wizard's face scrunched up and he slammed his hand down on the counter.

"I won't have the likes of ye in m'shop!" the old man bellowed, shaking a gnarled hand and glaring at Draco. "Death Eater scum!" he spat.

He heard a gasp seconds before his wife came storming down an aisle, her full pregnant belly preceding her and her wand out.

"You have _no right_ —"

"And _you!_ " He glared at Hermione, disgust clearly written all over his wrinkled face. "You that would marry'em! And have his children! What kind of woman—"

Before the old man could get another word out, Draco had his wand out and pointed directly at his heart.

"Not another word." His voice was barely a whisper but it held the weight of a threat.

"Draco." Hermione's hand was on his arm in a heartbeat. "Don't."

He looked to her, taking in her worried expression and the furrow on her brow. She was clearly worried about his Veela instincts kicking in. She had every right to; he'd learned with her first pregnancy that his ability to think rationally went right out the window when his mate was pregnant. Luckily for all of them, the old man wasn't much of a threat. With a sigh, he dropped his arm and glared at the old man. "Paige!"

The sound of little feet on carpet quickly reached his ears as his daughter answered the summons. "Daddy?"

"Come honey," Hermione said, holding out her hand. "We're going to go somewhere else."

"But why?"

"Because this store doesn't have the Rainbow Tarts your mother loves so much," Draco said, not taking his eyes off the wrinkled wizard behind the counter. He waited until Hermione had guided their daughter out of the store before he left, never showing his back to the other man. Hermione and Paige awaited him on the sidewalk and he plastered on a smile for his daughter, taking her hand and trying hard not to think about what had just happened.

**xXx**

"Grandfather, why do you and Daddy have the same drawing on your arm?"

Every head in the room swivelled towards Phèdre, who sat next to her sister on one of her Grandmother's uncomfortable sofas, her little legs dangling and a fine China teacup in her hand. Phèdre, and Paige for that matter, however, only looked towards their Grandfather.

Draco felt his wife tense beside him, quite the feat since she was _always_ tense when they visited the Manor, and in his peripheral vision he saw his mother quickly put down her tea, but he couldn't take his eyes off his father any more than his girls could.

Slowly, the elder Malfoy put down his tea and uncrossed his legs so that he could lean forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked at the two little girls, who stared patiently back at him, and for a long moment Draco wasn't sure that he would answer.

"It is a reminder that I did something very, very wrong a long time ago."

"What did you do?" Paige asked, her voice sweet, young, and so innocent. Draco felt his throat tighten unexpectedly.

"I..." Lucius paused, frowning slightly as he tried to find the words. "I listened to someone that I shouldn't have. That decision caused my family a lot of pain and I nearly lost everyone I love because of it."

"That bad?" Phèdre's eyes were wide.

"Mum sometimes sends us to our room when we're bad." Paige piped up.

"And so she should." Lucius' eyes darted towards Draco and his wife. "She's a smart woman, a talented witch, and a good mother."

Draco heard Hermione's breath catch in her throat and, looking over at her, he reached for her hand. She squeezed it tightly in her own, her eyes on her father-in-law's. For all the fact that they were related now, that they shared holiday dinners and the occasional Sunday tea, they were not friends. They were not even friendly, the two of them. Narcissa and Hermione had made their peace though they would never be close either, but only the least amount of words possible were ever exchanged between Lucius and Hermione.

Meeting his father's eyes, Draco nodded in acknowledgement. He would never say the words, of course, but perhaps he didn't really need to.

**xXx**

He ran a hand over Hermione's swollen belly, gently rubbing in a salve that helped with the tight, itchy skin. She hummed contentedly from her throne of pillows that propped her up and relieved the pressure from her back.

"Hermione?"

"Mmm?"

"Remember we were talking about names?"

She opened her eyes and peered down at him, her gaze sweeping over his shirtless chest and exposed wings. He 'displayed' a lot more when she was pregnant, something he couldn't control, even when they were alone. She didn't mind, but she knew that it irritated him and he could have sworn he heard Harry mutter 'peacock' once. If he could prove it, Potter would be six feet under.

"Yes, we couldn't decide between Eoin or Conor, and your mother wants Scorpius which is just not happening."

"I was thinking about something different," he said softly, looking down at her taut skin, shiny with the salve.

"What's that?"

"Severus."

"Oh," she breathed, making him look up at her. Slowly, she smiled at him. "I think he'd positively hate the idea."

Draco's lips twitched and he nodded. "Yeah, he would, but...he saved my life, Hermione. I want to honour him."

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I know, but what about Albus? Severus is his middle name."

"Somehow I don't think either Harry or Al will mind." Draco chuckled. "Al will probably think it's cool."

Hermione nodded, still smiling. "Okay. Severus Malfoy, it is."

**xXx**

Paige wrinkled up her nose and looked down at her baby brother.

"He looks funny."

"He looks like a newborn," her mother corrected.

"He doesn't look like Paige and I did when _we_ were babies," Phèdre announced with a tone of superiority.

Her mother looked at her from the hospital bed, her face tired but content, and shook her head.

"How on earth would you know?" Draco asked. "You were too young to remember what you looked like."

Paige looked at Phèdre and her twin nodded.

"We just do."

**xXx**

"Mum, can we have a dog?"

"No."

"A cat?"

"No."

"What about a Crup?"

"No."

"A Kneazle?"

"No."

"A Puffskein?"

"Don't they lick the inside of your nose while you sleep?"

"...maybe."

"Then no."

" _Muuuummmm!_ "

There was a dull thud, the sound of a forehead meeting a wooden table.

"Go ask your father."

**xXx**

Draco frowned as he spotted his wife, standing in the doorway to their bathroom, and approached to see what held her attention. Standing behind her, he automatically placed his hands on her waist, pulling her body into his as he looked over her shoulder...

"What the heck is he doing? !"

A tremor shook her frame and a hand quickly came up to cover her mouth as giggled erupted from her. Draco stared in shock at his son, only a year and a half, sitting on the bathroom floor with his mother's make-up kit spread around him. The white tiles were liberally decorated in various shades of beige and taupe with a splash of bright green or blue, or occasionally a smear of glossy pink here and there.

"Your son likes make-up, it seems," Hermione gasped, unable to contain herself.

Draco's eyes slowly crawled up his son's body, from his sparkling, make-up caked hands to the very red lipstick that he had clearly tried to apply to his own face. The little boy grinned at his parents, showing off two front teeth.

"Is this 'cause it tastes good?" Draco asked hopefully.

Hermione snorted.

**xXx**

_Mr. & Mrs. Malfoy,_

_It is with regret that I write to inform you of the actions of your daughters, Paige and Phèdre Malfoy. This evening at approximately eight in the evening there was an altercation between your daughters and several other students. While no one was harmed, there were several hexes and jinxes cast and one boy was taken to the Infirmary after a particularly powerful Bat Bogey Hex left him unable to breathe through his nasal passages._

_As I understand it, the altercation was not prompted by your daughters but rather by some cruel comments towards the girls about their father and his family. While I understand the girls' instinct to protect their father and their family name, I must ask that you impress upon them the importance of not resorting to violence to solve their problems. As they are still First Years, this is a habit that must be broken early._

_All of the involved parties will serve detention for a week after dinners and lose twenty House Points apiece. If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact me via owl._

_Regards,_

_Prof. N. Longbottom_

_Deputy Headmaster_

_Hogwarts School of_

_Witchcraft & Wizardry_

_P.S – You should have seen the size of those Bat Bogeys, Hermione. They were_ _ huge _ _! Ginny should be proud of her handiwork._

**xXx**

"Daddy, look!"

Draco paused in his writing and looked down at his six year old son who held out his left arm for his father's approval. Draco took in the crude, clumsy drawing of the Dark Mark on his son's pale white skin and blanched.

"What have you done?" he demanded, standing up so fast that his chair skidded back, catching on the rug in his study and falling backwards.

Severus looked confused and glanced down at his arm before back at his father. "I made it like yours, Daddy."

Draco felt bile rise in the back of his throat as he quickly scooped his son up in his arms and practically ran into the kitchen with him. "Daddy?" Severus asked, his tone unsure.

Draco didn't answer him as he put his son down on the kitchen counter, turned on the tap and conjured a wash cloth. He wet it quickly and poured a ton of soap on it before taking his son's arm and beginning to scrub at it.

"Come on, come on!" he growled, pressing harder into the soft flesh, trying to erase the black lines of the Dark Mark. It wasn't fading. What had he used? One of those infernal Muggle things Hermione kept around?

"Daddy! Daddy, that hurts!"

Draco didn't hear him as he held the cloth quickly under the running water and began scrubbing again. Severus' skin was turning bright red but the Dark Mark would not fade. It wouldn't go—

"DRACO!"

Suddenly, his son was yanked away from him. He looked up, gasping, and saw Severus crying in Hermione's arms. His little blond head was tucked into her neck, his grey eyes looking fearfully at his father.

"Oh—oh, god." His stomach revolted and he turned just in time, throwing up to the sound of his son's cries and knowing that he was the reason for them. Head hanging over the side of the sink, his hair getting wet from the running water, he heaved and cried.

"Draco, Draco..." He felt her cool, wet hand on the back of his neck and he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't deserve her gentle kindness, not after what he'd almost done to their son.

The water turned off and another cloth filled his vision as she wiped his face, much like she did to their children whenever they got sloppy. The thought made more tears leak out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I know, love, I know."

He looked up at her and saw that she had sat Severus down exactly where Draco had placed him earlier before he started viciously scrubbing at his arm. His son peered at him with wary, grey eyes and Draco's heart broke a little.

"I'm sorry, Severus," he whispered. "I'm sorry, little man."

The little boy sniffed, looking nothing like his namesake. Slowly, Draco reached out one wet hand towards his son and watched Severus' face as he gently took his marked arm and swept a gentle thumb over the pink and black flesh.

"I'm sorry, Severus. Can you forgive me?"

The boy hesitated for a second, and then nodded slowly. Draco reached for him with both hands then, pulling him into his arms and murmuring again and again just how sorry he was. Over his son's blond head he watched his wife with tears in her eyes and wished, not for the first time, that he'd never heard of Lord Voldemort.

**xXx**

It was absolute chaos.

Dominique Weasley was doing an incredible rendition of Luna Lovegood, standing under the crab apple tree while she danced and sang to herself.

James Potter was chasing a screeching Phèdre with a garden gnome.

Paige was whining to Albus that he wouldn't put his book down and play Gobstones with her like she'd asked him to 'only a _million_ times before'.

Victoire was sighing dramatically, flipping through her copy of _Witch Weekly_ , and glaring at the 'children'.

Lily Potter was chasing her brother with a stick in hand, intent on beating him apparently.

Severus was trying his best to catch up to all of them but at eight years old he was still too young to keep up with the bigger kids and so his plaintive 'Guuuuys! Guys! Wait for me! HEY! WAIT FOR ME!' could be heard just above Phèdre's banshee impression.

Draco was standing on the back stoop, staring in horror, when he felt a gentle tug on his robes. He looked down to find little Louis Weasley, the youngest of Bill and Fleur's children, looking up at him with bright blue eyes.

"Do you really have wings?"

He arched an eyebrow at the little boy.

"Do you really want to find out?"

**xXx**

_Tap, tap, tap._

They all looked up, four heads swivelling to the dining room window where an owl attempted to land on the narrow window ledge, a scroll in his claws.

"Oh! That must be Neville!" Hermione got up from the dinner table and quickly let the bird in. "He said he'd owl us when Severus was Sorted..."

Draco watched as his wife completely ignored the owl, which glared at her for her rudeness, and ripped open the seal, her eyes scanning it quickly before a triumphant smile broke out over her face.

She looked up at him. "Gryffindor."

Harry and Ginny burst into laughter as Draco groaned theatrically. Privately, he was relieved. He had expressed his concerns to Hermione about his children, especially his son bearing the name of two powerful and notorious Slytherins, going into his old House and the assumptions the public would make of him. Hearing that his son took after his mother, and with their daughters both in Ravenclaw, he felt a surge of relief run through his system.

"Too bad, Draco. Not a Slytherin in the lot," Ginny grinned, taking a sip of her wine.

Hermione fed the owl a few treats before it flew off, closed the window and sat back down at the table. With another theatrical sigh, Draco nodded. "If it weren't for the hair I'd wonder if they inherited anything from me at all."

Harry snorted while Hermione reached under the table and took his hand, squeezing gently.

"I wonder how Severus feels about it? He was torn between wanting to be with his sisters or with Albus in Slytherin, I don't think Gryffindor even occurred to him," Hermione said.

"I'm sure he'll be happy once he gets used to the idea," Draco said, running his thumb over her knuckles.

There was silence around the table as the occupants resumed their meal, nothing but the quiet clink of silverware hitting plates, until Harry took a drink of his beer and sat back.

"I bet you Professor Snape is cursing us all from on high right now," he said thoughtfully, a small smile on his lips. "He's going to be so mad at you, Draco."

Draco looked up at Harry and grinned. He knew, and felt better for knowing, that Harry had met and talked with Dumbledore during the Final Battle. It made him hope that one day he'd see Severus, and that he'd be able to thank him for all that he'd done for him, for them all.

"I think I can take him," he said, chuckling at the thought.

**xXx**

"Daddy, I don't understand..."

Draco sat on the floor of the room Paige shared with her sister during the summers and wrapped his arms tighter around her, squeezing her to his chest. She was so slight, her and her twin, that she fit as easily in his embrace at sixteen as she had at six. He rocked her back and forth, gently, soothingly, the way he had when his children were infants. Pillowing his cheek atop her white-blonde head, he searched for something that would ease her pain.

"I'm not sure you can understand, sweetheart."

"Why not?" she cried, her voice thick with tears.

"Because you're not like him, love, you're not cruel and thoughtless."

"He—he said he lo-loved me."

Draco pressed a kiss to her hair. "Your Grandma used to always say that 'actions speak louder than words'." He told her, thinking of his late mother-in-law. "She was full of little phrases like that, but they were often true."

Paige sniffed, loud and wet. "So you're saying I shouldn't be-believe people. I shouldn't trust them?"

"No, sweetie," he ran his hand through her long, curly hair. "I'm saying that as much as this hurts now, it will pass eventually and you will be left all the wiser for the experience."

"It's a shitty lesson," she mumbled into his chest.

He smiled slightly, kissing her hair again. "It is, sweetheart, it is. Life is full of shitty lessons."

"Do you feel wiser, Dad? After everything that's happened in your life?"

Draco sighed. His children, especially his daughters, knew about his past as a Death Eater. He'd sat down with the girls years before and told them his entire story, even how thoughtlessly cruel he had been to their mother at one point. It wasn't something he had been proud of, not even something he'd wanted to share, but he knew that they needed to know.

"Sometimes, I suppose I do. Times like now, here with you, when I know that what you're going through is just a tiny episode of your life and that one day you'll look back on it and feel nothing but indifference. There are plenty of situations, however, where I feel just as adrift and...and...clueless, really." Paige chuckled softly, relaxing further into his embrace.

"The first time I held you and your sister, I was so terrified that I would somehow manage to hurt you that I wouldn't get off the bed where your mother lay just in case I dropped one of you."

"Mum wouldn't have let you drop us," his daughter said, a smile in her voice.

"No, she wouldn't have," Draco agreed. "But that didn't stop my irrational terror that somehow, someway, I would screw it all up and hurt my girls."

"You never have." She squeezed him briefly, tightly.

He kissed her head once more. "My point is, Paige, that with every experience, no matter how minimal or traumatic, we take away something from it. When we use that knowledge, that experience, towards new encounters in our lives, only then are we truly wise."

She was quite for a while, sniffing occasionally, with her face pressed against the beating of his heart.

When she spoke her voice was slightly muffled but he could hear the tentative smile. "So what you're saying is that by the time Severus came 'round you knew how to hold a baby and thus, you are wise."

Draco snorted. "Something like that, love."

**xXx**

"I said _no_!"

Draco stared his daughter down, arms over his chest and a glare on his face. She mirrored his pose, jutting a hip out to the side and arching a blonde eyebrow at him.

"You can't stop me from getting the job I want!"

"The hell I can't!" he yelled. "You're not becoming an Auror and that's the end of it, Phèdre!"

"Who died and made _you_ king?"

"Phèdre!" Both of their heads turned towards Hermione. She glared at the pair of them, eyes darting from her husband to her daughter and back. "You will speak to your father with respect or not at all."

"I vote for not at all," Phèdre snapped.

"Good! You can sit and listen!" Draco pointed at the couch seat. Phèdre didn't even deign to look at it. "You are not becoming an Auror because it is too dangerous. You want to go into Magical Law Enforcement? Fine, but not as an Auror."

" _I am an adult!_ " she screeched, throwing her hands up in the air. "You can't stop me!"

" _I am your father!"_ Draco bellowed. "You _will_ obey me in this, Phèdre!"

Hermione stepped between the two of them, holding her hands out slightly. They had often butted heads over the years, but never quite with such ferocity.

"Or _what_?" Phèdre demanded, sneering at her father in an uncanny resemblance to the late Professor Snape. "Going to ground me?"

"If you can't follow the rules of this house, you can get out!" He spat, pointing to the front door.

Hermione gasped and turned towards him, murmuring his name quietly, but he didn't acknowledge her as he glared at their daughter. Phèdre's eyes widened and her face went slack with shock for a second before it hardened.

"That's how it is? Fine." She turned on her heel and stormed to the front door, whipping it open so hard it bounced off the wall. "FINE!"

With another slam, she was gone. Hermione turned to Draco, shock and anger on her face.

"Why would you say that to her? You know she'd rather leave than shelf her pride!"

Draco glared at his wife, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He felt guilty and hurt; he wanted her support in this but it was clear by one look at her face that she would not offer it.

"She needs to learn respect, Hermione! We let her run roughshod over us for years!"

Hermione frowned. "No, we didn't Draco. Yes, she's headstrong, but she's a good girl."

He turned from her and threw himself at the sofa, leaning forward on his knees. "She wants to be an _Auror_ , Hermione!"

"Yes, she does. Something she's been telling you since she was five years old."

He sighed and dropped his head into his hands, threading his fingers through his hair. "I didn't think she meant it."

"Of course she did. And you encouraged her, you told her she could do anything she set her mind to, now you scold her because she believed you?"

He grunted, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to will away the sudden pounding in his skull.

Hermione sat down next to him, slipping her hand over his back and rubbing a familiar, soothing pattern into his skin. When her palm brushed over the spots where his wings would emerge from, his whole body twitched and began to relax despite the turmoil in his mind.

"You were too hard on her."

"She's too proud."

His wife made a soft snort. "She's a Malfoy."

He sighed and said nothing. She was right, he knew; he didn't want to go find his daughter and apologise.

"How can you be so calm about this?" he asked, turning to her.

She smiled at him, her eyes crinkling in the corners. At nearly fifty, she hardly looked her age. It was in part due to her magical blood, she would live at _least_ another hundred years, but he was of the opinion that she would always look graceful and beautiful no matter how old she got.

"I'm not, but I can't stop her either, love. She is an adult, she can do what she wants with her life. We have to trust that we taught her how to take care of herself properly."

"She could get killed doing this, Hermione." His chest constricted at the thought.

"Draco, any of us could be killed at any moment. That is simply how life is. Yes, there is more inherent risk in being an Auror, but she's a smart girl and she's been learning Defence since before she entered Hogwarts. You know that, you've taught her plenty yourself, so has Harry and he _is_ an Auror."

"All the preparation in the world isn't always going to be enough."

"That is a possibility," she nodded, looking away. He watched her face tighten slightly and he knew she was thinking about a world without her beautiful girl in it; she slipped her hand into his and held it tightly. "But if this is something that she wants, she will go for it and, knowing her, she'll get it. You have to decide whether you can live with the possibility of her job causing her harm, or losing her completely when she refuses to bow to your demands."

"I wouldn't—"

"Draco, you are not your father," she said softly. "But you are just as stubborn and unyielding when you want to be. Do you really want to sever your relationship with her over this?"

He dropped his head into his hands again. "No."

"Then go apologise. Explain yourself, your worry. Tell her that you'll always love her, no matter what she does with her life, and bring her home."

**xXx**

Draco watched his son as he paced back and forth in front of them, his movements short and jerky. It was in moments like this where he realized just how different Severus was from the professor he was named for. He was tall and thin, yes, but fair and handsome, charming when he wanted to be, and very well liked. He'd started to grow out his hair in the traditional style, the one that Lucius favoured and Draco abhorred, and the white-blond strands had begun to curl slightly—evidence of his mother.

With each turn, that hair lifted slightly and fell back down against his neck; he was moving so quickly that Draco honestly wondered if he was making himself dizzy yet. Hermione, sitting beside him on their family room sofa, watched her youngest child worriedly.

"Severus, just tell us what this is about. You've been awfully mysterious but it's obvious that something is bothering you."

He stopped and looked at his mother, his face stricken. Draco's heart jumped. "Are you in trouble? Has something happened?"

"No," Severus said quickly, shaking his head. "I'm-I'm not in trouble...yet."

"Severus, just _tell us_ ," Hermione implored. "You're scaring me."

He looked to his mother, his grey eyes softening slightly. He looked so much like his father had at fifteen, except less angular. "I'm sorry, mother. I don't mean to."

"Well, then sit down and talk to us," she gestured to the armchair across from their sofa. "Whatever it is, we'll work through it."

Draco watched his son walk towards the chair and hesitate before he sat gingerly. He looked at his lap, hands clasped in front of him, and looked for all the world like a young boy about to be severely scolded. Without looking up at them, he mumbled, "I don't know where to start."

"Wherever you feel comfortable starting," Hermione urged him.

Severus opened his mouth...and then closed it.

"Just spit it out, son," Draco said, getting a mite frustrated. He caught Hermione glaring at him out of the corner of his eye but he ignored it; she had bedside manner, he did not.

"I'm gay."

Draco blinked. "Pardon me?"

Severus swallowed hard, clenching his hands together as his legs began to jerk nervously. "Please don't make me say it again."

Draco stared at his son as a curious blankness took over his mind. He didn't know how to feel about this revelation; he'd been raised in a traditional wizarding world, one where things like homosexuality were not spoken of and certainly not condoned. Of course, he'd also been raised to believe that people like his wife were the scum of the earth and he knew that to be complete and utter bollocks.

He turned to Hermione, who was staring at her son, tears beginning to form in her eyes and blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"This is your fault, you know. You and your make-up." *

Hermione's head whipped around and for a second, her face was the picture of shock and confusion, before his words sunk in and she began to laugh.

"What? Mo-mother?"

Draco turned to his son. He looked lost and unsure and Draco felt his gut clench at the sight. Hermione, still laughing, stood up and quickly crossed the room. Kneeling in front of her son, she took his hands in hers.

"You're not in trouble," she told him gently, lifting his hands and kissing them both. "And I love you, very, very much."

"Yeah?"

"Of course, you silly boy!" Hermione laughed through her tears. "Don't you ever doubt it."

Severus ducked his head and Hermione murmured something too quiet for Draco to hear. Whatever it was, it made Severus squeeze his eyes shut tightly and nod his head, his hands tightening on his mother's. She wiggled one free and cupped his face, tucking his hair back. Standing up quickly, she pressed a kiss to his hair and sat herself on the arm of the hair, one hand still in his.

"Dad?"

Draco frowned slightly, trying to think of what to say. He didn't know _what_ to say, really, or how he felt about Severus' revelation. What he did know is that he wasn't disgusted by the revelation—just a little thrown. Looking up, he saw that his son was watching him carefully.

"Are you sure?" he asked finally.

Severus' lips twitched and he ducked his head slightly. "Dad, when were you sure that you were straight?"

Draco's eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth to answer when it hit him. He closed his mouth and the corner of his mouth lifted. "Point taken."

Severus shrugged slightly, his fingers squeezing his mother's hand. He looked terribly vulnerable and Draco was reminded of the fact that, for all his quiet maturity, his son was only a fifteen year old boy.

He stood up and approached them, reaching out, he took his son's other hand.

"I don't really know how to feel about this," he confessed quietly. "I imagine it will take some getting used to, but never doubt that I love you."

Severus let out a small sound and leaned forward, resting his forehead against his father's stomach. Draco reached up and cupped the back of his head as he looked to his wife. She gave him a watery eyed smile and a shrug.

"Don't think that this gets you out of continuing the Malfoy line, you know." Draco grinned as his son made an odd choking sound. "Your Grandfather would have a coronary if you never produced an heir."

**xXx**

Their house was completely silent and slightly unnerving.

"What do we do now?"

Hermione looked at him and then around their very quiet family room. "I have no idea."

He watched as she slowly walked over to the couch and sat down, putting her feet up on the table the way she never let the children do. Of course, now that they had all moved out she could feel free to _not_ lead by example.

"Maybe we should have more children?"

She looked at him as if he were completely and utterly insane. "And will _you_ be carrying and birthing these theoretical children?"

He smirked and sat down beside her. "You've still got some child bearing years in you, love."

She wacked him with a throw pillow before, laughing, she climbed into his lap and straddled his thighs. His hands automatically sought out her waist, slipping his thumbs under the hem of her light jumper and brushing against warm skin.

"How about we just _practice_ making children?" she suggested, a brilliant smile on her face.

"I suppose that's probably best," he agreed, nodding sagely. "I mean, they'll be back on the weekend, anyway."

"They will?"

"You honestly think Severus can clean his own laundry?"

"Well, he knows how to use household char—"

"Have you _met_ your daughters? Neither of them can cook to save their lives. They'll be living off take away during the week and bombarding us come Friday evening. Why do you think they only _just_ moved out? They didn't want to be the only twenty-two year olds still living at home while their seventeen year old little brother had his own flat."

Hermione frowned and slumped against his chest, looking thoughtful. "Shit. You're right."

"I'm _always_ right, when are you going to learn this, woman?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied flippantly. "Maybe in another twenty, thirty years?"

"That quickly? And here I was thinking it'd take you a good hundred."

She pulled back, smiling brilliantly at him. "Well, it's a good thing you have all that time to educate me, isn't it?"

He smirked and pulled her in for a kiss. "Come here, witch. I'll teach you a thing or two."


End file.
